


Amor Vincit Omnia

by AuthorMAGrant



Series: The Family That Preys Together, Stays Together [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, F/M, M/M, Russian vampire family, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Yuri, enough tagging separate chapters NSFW just assume it's pretty NSWF, happily ever after guaranteed, hunter Otabek, pretty angsty, rated for all the adult content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorMAGrant/pseuds/AuthorMAGrant
Summary: Otabek Altin is the Brotherhood's most diligent soldier, expertly hunting and killing the vampiric enemies of humanity, until he faces a bloodthirsty Russian punk named Yuri who kicks his ass ... and captures his attention as no one else ever has. The lines between hatred and lust blur, and the deeper Otabek falls into Yuri's world, the more he questions the Brotherhood and its orders. Now, what should have been a simple eradication trip to America has become a fight to determine whether Otabek will remain the obedient soldier of his youth or the warrior who may earn a love he's never deserved.





	1. Like a Kick to the ... Head

Otabek could feel the pulse of the club’s music almost a block away. Hunters had keen senses, but any idiot could have found this place. Americans … Only here could he find people stupid enough to want to invite vampires into their midst. The underground club scene was ripe for an opportunistic vamp. It was downright welcoming for an aggressive one. When he’d arrived in country a few days ago, Leo, his American contact from the Brotherhood, had warned him that a new nest was setting down roots. Leo had been working for weeks to find their hunting grounds, but without much luck. Otabek, for better or worse, had gotten a lead his second night.

That lead had brought him here, to a rundown warehouse on the edge of town. The windows were painted over so not a single light from inside escaped. There was no need for a bouncer; if you weren’t part of the scene, there was no chance you’d find this place. He parked his bike further away from the building than the other cars littering the area and headed for the door.

The dark, labyrinthine passages of the warehouse were dimly lit with tea lights. Otabek didn’t really need their pathetic illumination. He’d learned to fight in the inky dark of a vampire’s nest when he was a child. The shadows held no monsters for him anymore. Eventually, he neared the source of the music and pushed through the rusted door into what must have once been the warehouse’s main basement.

It was an obscenely wealthy scene, as far as underground blood banks went. Candelabras, ala Gothic Hollywood, dangled from the ceiling. The walls were draped with rich, dark fabrics. Tables were set off in private alcoves. Behind the semi-transparent curtains, he could see writhing bodies, some lost in blood play, others in carnal delights, but none of the people behind those flimsy veils gave him the panicked aura of prey. Further in, a dance floor stretched in almost every direction. He grimaced at the sea of partiers grinding and moving against one another. Across the way, a bar was hidden by a crowd several people deep. That was where the girl said she’d first spotted him.

It had taken Otabek almost fifty dollars to coax her outside of the coffee shop to talk to him. She kept lifting a hand to her turtleneck, which hid the livid scratches of fangs barely escaped. She’d come to the club, been hit on by a tall man with dark hair, and had stepped into one of the back halls with him. At first, it had been fun. But then he’d started muttering something in a foreign language and weeping and she’d been freaked out and tried to leave. That was when he’d tried to bite her.

Leo told him he was an idiot and had wasted his money. Frankly, it wasn’t the worst lead Otabek had ever received. It wasn’t the best, either, especially when a quick glance confirmed that there was no shortage of tall men with dark hair scanning the crowd. This crowd seemed to go one of two ways: cyberpunk futuristic vamp wannabes or extras off the set of _Interview with a Vampire_ , down to the period costuming, horrendous hairstyles, and Tom Cruise smirks. Wearing his casual hunting gear, he looked like a fucking Boy Scout in comparison. Worn shitkickers, jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket did not a vampire make, at least not in Southern California. Standing out this much wouldn’t do him any favors. He needed to hunt, finish the job, and get out, and the only way to do that was to find the girl’s attacker. He was about to dive into the crush around the bar and begin listening for accents, a practice he despised since there was always a ridiculous number of idiots who tried to fake Romanian accents, when movement to his right caught his attention.

The tall man, with dark hair done in a stylishly over-the-top version of an undercut, was too busy chatting up a blond man to notice Otabek. But, to be honest, Otabek could understand _why._ The blond was something else, all sharp cheekbones and vicious pout, hair brushing his shoulders in an ethereal fall that made him look more angel than devil. His delicate fingers tapped the rim of his drink while he listened to his suitor’s eager conversation, drawing attention to the wiry muscles of his forearms. His black leather pants, which disappeared into slim calf-high boots, looked painted on and his ripped shirt showed off slashes of pale skin and flexing muscles and ribs. But it was his neck that Otabek found himself staring at the most.

Long. Delicate. Creamy skin unmarred by any imperfection. And there, beside the cut of a flexed muscle, a barely noticeable blue vessel that meandered through his flesh like a mineral vein in marble.

You couldn’t come somewhere like this with a neck like _that_ and not be advertising how much you wanted to be attacked.

Clearly, that’s what Undercut had decided too, since he gesticulated wildly as he stood and held out a hand toward the blond. The other man stared at it for a moment before shrugging and allowing himself to be pulled toward one of the back exits. Otabek’s heart pounded. He knew where this was going. He’d seen it too many times. The blond had no idea what he was in for and Otabek knew the Brotherhood’s code wouldn’t forgive him for letting an innocent die in pursuit of another hunt. He hurried after them, held up for a few moments when the crowd surged forward to fill the void at the bar. By the time he made it to the door, it had already shut.

He pushed out and into the dark hall as quietly as he could. If Undercut had started feeding, his senses would be clouded. Otabek had to use that momentary weakness to his advantage.

Back in the darkness, he heard the telltale scuff of feet over dilapidated concrete flooring. He went that way, reaching into his jacket for his silver garrote as he slid through the darkness. Soon, he was close enough to hear the conversation, muffled still from the absurd music, just ahead around the corner in the hall. One of them must have been using his phone to light up the path, since the pale blue light spilled around the corner.

“So, you come here often?”

“No.”

“Ever been with a king, or is this your first time?”

“Did you want to fuck or talk?”

He couldn’t tell which man that bored voice belonged to, but the complete apathy made him smile. Seen the scene in one blood bank, seen them all. The other man—King Undercut, Otabek assumed—got flustered and trailed off.

“What?” his companion asked, as if the question and the patience it required were physically painful.

“It’s just … she wouldn’t say something like that.”

A deep, weary sigh. “Okay. Try again.”

“I noticed you were watching me from over there. What question was in that pretty head of yours?”

“Do you bite?” the bored man asked.

It was as if the entire atmosphere shifted. Undercut crooned, “If you want me to.”

“Well—”

_Shit_. Otabek flung himself down the hall, but a strangled cry and wet swallowing declared that he was too late. Again.

He burst around the corner, garrote at the ready, and stumbled to a stop, frozen at the nightmarish tableau backlit by phone light.

“I don’t remember inviting you.” A pale pink tongue flicked out, cleaning crimson from around full lips. A single finger reached up and slid under the escaped drop of blood that had trickled down his chin. He frowned when he saw that and sucked the droplet off his finger, a move that sent blood rushing straight to Otabek’s cock, poor timing be damned. “You made me spill.”

It was true. Not another drop of blood had fallen. No drops sprayed over his clothes, his skin, his pale hair. If it weren’t for the brilliant white fangs exposed by a wicked smile, Otabek would have thought he’d stumbled into the middle of a lovers’ tryst. Undercut moaned faintly from his position pinned to the wall, the twin punctures on his neck slowly leaking blood down toward the collar of his shirt. The vamp, supremely unimpressed with Otabek and the level of threat he posed, released Undercut’s shoulder and let him fall to the floor.

“He’s fine,” the vamp said with a roll of his startlingly green eyes. “I only took a sip.”

His accent, a rough purr, betrayed his origin. And, no matter how much Otabek thought he might want to see him naked, there was no chance in hell he’d allow the Russians to create a new nest here.

He bared his own teeth and braced his feet more firmly into the ground, preparing himself for whatever attack was to come. “Demon. Time to die.”

One moment, the vamp stood there before him, frustration marring his perfect features. The next, his foot came toward Otabek’s face. He avoided the kick; he knew his taunt would get _some_ reaction. The punch took him off guard though. The vamp’s fist landed a blow to his left side, near the kidney, and he nearly lost his grip on the garrote. But his training held. He went with the force of the punch, quick-stepping so he didn’t lose his balance. And when the vamp’s other fist flew towards his face, he was ready.

It was a mere flick of the wrist to wrap the silver thread of the garrote around the vamp’s forearm as it passed. Upon contact, the undead flesh hissed and sputtered from the burn. The shock on the vamp’s face was so unexpected Otabek almost felt bad. Almost. That thought passed swiftly as the world exploded into stars and a white-hot blaze of pain when the vamp kicked him in the nuts.

He barely got his forearms under him before he hit the floor, absently grateful for his leather jacket’s protection against the debris. When he sucked in a breath that turned into a cough, his body remembered how much pain it was in and the flash of light returned. He coughed and hacked and dry-heaved over the floor, cupping himself with a trembling hand.

Meanwhile, his prey turned predator didn’t seem to be in much better shape. “Убийца,” the vamp snarled, shaking the garrote from his forearm and kicking it away into the darkness. He made a short rush and landed another brutal kick, this one to Otabek’s ribs. “You fucking asshole!”

“Better kill me,” Otabek managed to rasp out around coughs. “Won’t stop hunting you.”

His head was wrenched up without warning. The roots of his hair screamed their protest, but it wasn’t enough pain to warrant even a whimper. He held the vamp’s verdant glare, hating the confusing mix of pain and hatred and lust that he had heard other hunters talk about, but had never experienced himself. He couldn’t be this weak. Couldn’t. He didn’t give a damn if the Brotherhood claimed that every hunter would someday face temptation incarnate and all its physical allure. He, Otabek Altin, was above such base desires.

“Who are you?” the vamp asked. His fingers tightened their hold in Otabek’s hair, even as his full lips turned down into a frown. “Your eyes are too hard to be part of the little lion’s Brotherhood. They’re nothing but cowards.”

“Says the monster who kicked me instead of fighting fairly,” Otabek shot back with a mocking grin.

The vamp made a little noise of disgust. “Since when do our kinds fight with honor, Убийца?”

“I’m not a killer.”

That outburst earned him a coy look and the jarring sensation of fingers skimming over his throat, which was far too exposed from the angle his head was held at. “No?” the vamp asked. “Tell that to my wounded mother. Or my father who stayed to protect her. Or my grandpa, who your Brotherhood took from me while his back was turned so he could yell at me to run. Tell me how those fights were _fair_.” He spat out the last word as if it were a dirty thing. “No, Убийца, I think that’s the perfect name for monsters like you.”

“What about him?” Otabek looked at Undercut, who was still moaning softly, although it sounded more like pain this time than before. “You think you’re so innocent?”

“He wanted help practicing how to pick up some lame girl he went to high school with. We stepped out so he didn’t embarrass himself, or me, in front of everyone in there.” The vamp looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing when he spotted the trickles of blood on Undercut’s neck. He ran his tongue over his fangs and shot Otabek a smug glance. “My payment was … unorthodox, but I had no intention of killing him. You, on the other hand …” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. You’re much too interesting to kill now. Besides, I haven’t had a real challenge in a long time.”

It was Otabek’s turn for curiosity. “Who are _you_?”

“Yuri Plisetsky.”

The Ice Tiger of Russia. Named after his penchant for draining victim’s so quickly there was no trace of blood left to heat the body, leaving nothing but icy corpses behind. He really hadn’t been trying to kill Undercut then.

The vamp chuckled. “You’ve heard of me. But you still won’t give me your name. It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

And he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Otabek’s. For a moment, the hunter froze. Yuri’s lips were slightly cooler, a reminder that he wasn’t human anymore, but the coppery tang of fresh blood and its warmth on the tongue that swept inside Otabek’s mouth masked that minor detail. Yuri hummed against his mouth and Otabek realized with horror that he was kissing _back_ , giving in to that insane urge that had rocked him moments ago. Before he could pull away, there was a sharp prick on his lower lip. He yelped and caught himself before he landed back on the floor. Yuri now stood several feet away, eyes closed, head tilted up as he savored the taste. Otabek lifted a shaky hand to his mouth. His fingers came away bloodied.

The fucker had _bitten_ him.

“There,” Yuri murmured. “Now I’ll be sure to remember you.” He tilted his head at the still grounded hunter and his grin held the promise of pain … and pleasure. “See you soon, да?” And he was gone, a shadow melting into the blackness of the hallway.

If his balls weren’t swollen to three times their size from that kick, if his heart would start its damn beating again after that kiss, if there weren’t an injured idiot a few feet away who needed some kind of medical attention and a stern talking to, Otabek would have gone after Yuri. Instead, he mentally cursed his ineptitude and pulled his cell from his jacket pocket.

Leo answered on the second ring. “Otabek? What’s up?”

“Remember that address I gave you earlier? I’m going to need a pick up for me and the bike.” Across the hall, Undercut began muttering something about fangs. “And a half-pint, it looks like.”

“Shit, what happened?”

He scowled, anger growing when the movement pulled on his wounded lip. “Plisetsky.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“No. Now hurry up.” He hung up and dragged himself up to his feet, collecting Undercut’s phone along the way and using its light to find his garrote. He managed to get the man upright, even if he staggered a bit, and headed back toward the club. Plisetsky may have been one of the most dangerous vamps known to the Brotherhood, but he’d left Otabek alive. Soon he’d be taught a lesson for his arrogance. Soon Otabek would put a stake through his heart, erasing every bit of him, including the memory of that talented mouth. He tightened his grip on Undercut’s waist. _Soon_.


	2. Living a Cursed Life ... a Half-Life

“Where is Yakov?” Yuri bellowed as he slammed open the inner door of their nest’s airlock and stomped inside. “I want to talk to him _now_!”

Dark hair sliding away from her face as she glanced up from her magazine, Sara flicked a finger toward the next room of the fallout shelter their family had taken over. Milla lifted her head from its place on Sara’s shoulder to watch Yuri’s tantrum. After all their time together, she knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, smiling as her Italian girlfriend whispered something in her ear. “Bad hunt tonight?”

“Stay out of my way, hag,” he snarled, trying to hide his injured arm at his side. Damn it all to hell, his wrist _hurt_. At least he hadn’t worn a jacket to the club so he didn’t have a cuff rubbing against the burn.

Milla caught sight of it anyway. She sucked in a sharp breath and crawled over Sara in her haste to get off the couch and close the distance to him. “Yuri, what did you do?” she asked, stopping his progress so she could inspect him. She hissed at the livid line in his flesh, its edges puckered up while the burn weeped clear fluid in an attempt to heal. Tough shit. It would take days and some genuine feeding for him to be able to heal the damage.

“Yuri—”

He tossed his hair from his face and rolled his eyes, dragging his arm from her clutches. “Ran into a hunter.”

The woman who was the closest thing he had to a sister wrinkled her nose. “The little lion did this to you?”

“No. New guy. Way better than the lion.”

Milla made a _tch_ in the back of her throat. “And you didn’t kill him?”

Yuri scowled and tried to escape. But it was too late. Sara was off the couch now, padding toward him on bare feet. She and Milla exchanged a knowing look.

“What stopped you?” Sara asked, stepping in his way. Milla took up position beside her. “And don’t lie. We’ll know.”

“He was a challenge,” Yuri bit out.

Milla arched a delicate auburn brow. “And?”

_And he was fucking hot._ “And he has an overdeveloped sense of heroism. He was coming to rescue _me_. You should have seen the look on his face when he realized _I_ was the one with fangs.”

“So you let a dangerous hunter live because …”

“Because I want to enjoy ripping out his throat later, when I’m not in pain.” He pushed the women apart. Miraculously, they moved for him.

“Yakov won’t like this,” Milla called after him. “Not on top of Georgi’s problems.”

She had a point, but it was too late to turn back now. Yuri was committed. The shelter was a series of long, narrow rooms, a leftover remnant of Cold War fears. Yuri appreciated the irony that a Russian nest was finding refuge in an American bomb shelter. He also liked that he finally had his own room, thanks to the original builder’s attempt to create an underground ark for what must have been the majority of the Southern California population. Last they’d checked, the various tunnels and rooms ran for several miles. It was a veritable warren of living quarters and Yuri, against his better judgment, was excited at the prospect of their finally finding a home, even if his family was the most fucked up, dysfunctional group of rejects he’d ever met.

The leader of those rejects, Yakov, was in one of the kitchens, shouting as usual. The old man had seen and survived it all, from the Brotherhood’s rise to their continued war against all vampires. He was a force of nature and probably wasn’t shown the respect he truly deserved, which is why he responded with such volatile rages to any news he didn’t like. Yuri didn’t bother to hide his smirk when he saw the current victims of Yakov’s fury. It was about time Victor, the most celebrated vampire Russia had ever produced, and his pathetic excuse for a mate were chewed out. Except, Yakov wasn’t chewing _them_ out. Only Victor. Yuuri sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug clutched between both his hands, his head whipping back and forth between the two arguing Russians like he was watching a tennis match.

Yuri slid in place behind the Japanese man, then reached over his shoulder and stole the mug.

“Hey,” Yuuri said with irritation. The ire vanished the moment he turned and found Yuri behind him. “Oh, you’re back?”

Yuri curled his lip in response and took a swig. He immediately regretted the decision when the stale, cool blood hit his taste buds. “Fuck, pig, you didn’t even bother to heat it up? What’s the point then?”

Yuuri shook his head in amusement and took his mug back. A former hunter, he’d risked his life to help their family save a weakened and tortured Victor from the Brotherhood before they could make him into an example. Yuuri had done it out of some ridiculous, pathetic belief in true love and had nearly been killed in the subsequent escape. Voting permission for Victor to turn him was the easiest decision their family ever made—and its only unanimous decision to date—and Yuuri was completely devoted to them as a result. Everyone loved him. He was the eye of their storm. He knew all their individual quirks and somehow helped smooth them so living together didn’t end in daily bloodshed. He alone understood Yuri’s random mood swings, which Yuri hated. But he kept Victor, who was normally flighty and theatrical, from giving them away to the public, which meant they could settle down for chunks of time now, which Yuri liked a great deal.

Still, his uncanny knack for reading Yuri’s discomfort was a bit too useful in times like this.

“What did you do, _tora_?” he asked, setting his mug down and dragging Yuri’s injured arm in for closer inspection. His eyes narrowed and he gently traced near the edge of the wound with a finger. “Silver garrote?”

Yuri nodded, aware that Victor and Yakov’s conversation was slowing down and returning to normal volume levels. Yuuri’s prodding hurt, but his noises of commiseration and praise for not having worse damage went a long way to soothing Yuri’s ego.

“We need to clean this,” Yuuri declared, rising from the table and dragging Yuri toward the sink with him. “Rinse it with water. I’ll get the ointment.”

By now, Victor and Yakov had abandoned their discussion and were closing in, grim faced and earnest for Yuri’s story. He ignored them for the time being and instead held his burn under the stream of cool water. He watched Yuuri pull out his medical kit and dig around for the calendula ointment, a homemade remedy that helped speed the healing process.

“What happened?” Yakov asked. He never sounded surprised anymore, no matter what scrapes any of them got into. His gravelly voice held the weight of too many years spent babysitting a flock of young, impulsive vamps.

“New hunter in town.”

“He got the drop on _you_?” Victor asked, looking over Yuri’s shoulder at the burn.

“He’s good,” Yuri admitted. It pained him to say it aloud, but next to Victor he was the best fighter of their family. If _he_ got injured by the handsome killer, they were facing a genuine threat.

“What’s he look like?” Yuuri asked, bumping Victor out of his way with a hip check. He shut off the water and began dabbing the remaining drops from Yuri’s skin.

“Shorter than you. Dark. Stood like a soldier.”

A nearly imperceptible tremor in Yuuri’s hands as he spread the ointment over the burn. “Wearing a leather jacket?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Yuuri looked at Victor, expression too serious. “I told you they’d send him.”

“Send who?”

Victor tapped at his chin with a finger, silver hair catching the light as he gnawed at some silent problem in his head. “It may not be him.”

Yakov gave a grunt of disagreement.

Yuuri frowned. “Don’t be stupid. We knew this was a risk.”

“Excuse me.” Yuri raised his voice, not quite yelling, but damn close. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

Yakov went with his normal, blunt approach. “The hunter you fought is Otabek Altin.”

Well, if that wasn’t a punch to the nads. Yuri’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Yuuri, who continued his efficient ministrations. He’d heard of Altin before. After he’d been turned, Yuuri had given the entire family a careful run down of all the hunters he’d worked with or heard about. Altin was the bogeyman of the stories, a man Yuuri had said was _the most frightening and talented_ he’d ever worked with. “Pig, you’re joking. _That_ was the hero of Kazakhstan?”

“Probably.”

He had made a horrible, terrible, arrogant mistake. “Shit.”

Yakov jumped on that. “What did you do?”

“I might have kissed him.”

Victor started to smile behind his raised finger.

“And bit him.”

Yeah, there was a full-fledged flash of fang now, and the ghost of an answering grin on Yuuri’s face. At least he tried to hide it by looking down at the bandage he was wrapping around Yuri’s wrist.

“And insulted his ability to hunt.”

Yakov pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe. Victor positively cackled and Yuuri couldn’t hide his amusement any longer.

“Yuri—” Yakov began.

Victor interrupted him, as always. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

He wrenched his arm from Yuuri’s grasp and scowled at his mentor. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know the Brotherhood’s best assassin was coming after you two idiots.” He blinked, worry beginning to trickle in past the defensiveness. “How did he find us here anyway? I thought we lost them in Korea.”

“I’m not sure,” Yuuri muttered, “but I think we can find out. When did Phichit say he was off work?”

“Around eight,” Yakov said, his words a little nasally from the continued pinch of desperation.

Victor checked his phone and gave a decisive nod. “Only a few hours then. We’ll have him dig in once he’s back and Yuri’s fed.”

“I’m not drinking from the hamster,” Yuri protested, but Victor waved him off with practiced ease.

“You don’t have a choice. We need to hit another bank to resupply, so we can only spare you two pints now. Minami’s still down from that flu and if Altin is here, you aren’t going back aboveground until you’re fully healed.” Victor’s hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “We can’t risk losing you, брат.”

“Phichit doesn’t mind,” Yuuri added, his hand resting on Yuri’s other shoulder, his touch lighter and sweeter. “You know he doesn’t consider it personal.”

Yuri knew his protests were ridiculous. They were fortunate to have _two_ willing donors who traveled and lived with the family, especially in medical emergencies like this, but he could never shake the feeling that there was supposed to be _more_ to feeding than the simple opening of a vein. He’d accidentally witnessed Victor and Yuuri and Milla and Sara during feedings; there was no avoiding it when living in such close quarters. Part of him was disgusted by the obvious passion and joy, part of him was so jealous he thought he would die. Yakov had patiently explained that their relationships were unusual and Yuri shouldn’t use them as his basis for comparison. Victor and Milla were born vampires and Yuuri and Sara were turned, which meant they could feed off of each other without any ill effects. Most vampires lived like Georgi and Yakov and Yuri, moving from willing donor to willing donor without fuss.

Except, Yuri _wanted_ fuss. He wanted breathy moans and whispered promises and the frantic need for bare flesh. He was sick of clinical exchanges.

“Yuri, can I call Phichit and let him know to start prepping?” Yuuri asked, cutting through his miserable thoughts.

He groaned, but nodded. Yuuri stepped away to make the call, sealing his fate.

“What do you have against Phichit anyway?” Victor asked, bemused.

“He tastes too sweet. And he likes to cuddle after,” Yuri lamented. “I _hate_ cuddling.”

“Learn to deal with it. I need you back to full strength,” Yakov said. “Now, tell us exactly what happened.”

By the time he’d finished recounting the night’s events and drinking the mugs of warmed blood Yuuri brought him, there was little else Yuri wanted than to go to his room, crawl into bed, and pass out for hours. His elders must have realized that because Yakov dismissed him with a grumbled reminder to not go hunting for Otabek on his own. Yuuri promised to send Phichit to him as soon as he got home before wandering off with Victor. Probably to go feed, knowing those two horny bastards.

Yuri slunk his way to his room in the rear of the family’s area. He didn’t lock the door this time; hopefully he’d be completely asleep when Phichit arrived and he knew the friendly man would let himself in. He slid out of his boots and peeled off his other clothes. In the comfortable chill of his room, he unwrapped the burn and inspected it. The ointment was already helping, leaching away the worst of the livid red color, and with another solid feeding he may be able to heal over the worst of the damage. It had been a long time since he’d been hurt this badly. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to sink his fangs into someone’s throat so much his jaw ached. It had been an even longer time since he had imagined what it might be like to sink his cock into a willing partner’s mouth, hand, body.

And it was all Otabek Altin’s fault.

Sure, the asshole was dangerous. Yuri’s aching arm was proof enough of that. But when they’d locked lips, the man had frozen for a half-second before blossoming under Yuri’s kiss. There was a rawness to his need that had cut through Yuri like a silver blade and no matter how he sputtered and flushed when Yuri pulled away and retreated to a safer distance, it was too late. Altin, rational or not, _wanted_ him. If Yuri played his cards right, he might be able to coax the hunter into a new game before finishing him off. Oh, there was no way in hell he was going to waste this opportunity, Yakov and the mated couple’s warnings be damned.

“I finally found you. Just you wait, Altin,” Yuri muttered as he flung himself onto his bed and covered his eyes with his good arm.

He woke later to a dark room and a warm body climbing into bed beside him. Groggy from dreams about a dark haired hunter and everything he wanted to do to him, Yuri only came half-awake. He didn’t want to leave those dreams yet. He rolled to his side, wrapped an arm around Phichit’s waist and dragged him closer, keeping his eyes closed so he could keep pretending.

“Heard you needed a pick-me up,” the man said softly, running a hand through Yuri’s hair.

Yuri responded by pushing his head further into that touch, tension easing from his body from the simple physical connection.

“Take what you need,” Phichit urged, shifting so he lay spread eagle on the bed, offering up the best pulse points for Yuri’s pleasure. Yuri gave in a little and skimmed his fingers over his donor’s body. He’d fed enough from Phichit that even in the blackness he had his body memorized. Graceful, proportionate limbs, wiry muscle hidden under rich, bronze skin dusted with dark hairs that had always fascinated Yuri at the contrast with his own pallidity. Tracing down his abs, Yuri encountered fabric. So he was wearing boxers this time—short and tight—that showed _some_ of him was off limits. Yuri didn’t ask why; it was none of his business and he had no interest in taking his blood from such an intimate spot.

At least, not from _this_ man.

And on that disturbing thought, he rasped, “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Nope. Anywhere’s fine.”

Permission granted, Yuri gave a weak moan and buried his face into the crook of Phichit’s neck. His skin smelled of jasmine and sandalwood and toner, a jarring combination that somehow fit perfectly. The vessel pulsed beneath his lips as he tested the spot, scenting and trying to psych himself up enough to peel open his lips and bite.

Feeding from Phichit was one of the few things to make Yuri feel guilty. The man was a saint. Always walking around the nest with a giant smile on his face, laughing about his day working at a computer security firm, keeping himself in peak condition and well-hydrated so he could help if needed. He never pushed Yuri to do anything he didn’t want during feedings, whether that was talking or fucking or talking about how they _didn_ _’t_ fuck. No, Phichit held no expectations for their relationship and if Yuri had half a brain, he’d try to take things a step further, see where they ended up.

But no one ever accused him of being smart.

No matter how much he knew he needed to just bite and feed, he couldn’t. His imagination ran wild, replacing the sweet man under him with a very different body, a very different threat, and while Yuri’s body begged for a taste, his mind knew it wouldn’t be the same. Phichit picked up on Yuri’s reluctance. He slid a hand around Yuri’s side and stroked his back, a long, slow, soothing motion from his neck to the base of his spine.

“It’s just a little bit,” he murmured. “How can I help?”

“Can you … I mean … just …” His tongue felt clumsy as he tried to explain what he needed. He pressed a hand on Phichit’s shoulder, digging his fingers in and giving him enough space to push up a little so they weren’t lying directly on top of each other. The distance cleared his head enough that he could finish his thought with a lame, “Struggle? A little, maybe?”

Never had he been so grateful as when Phichit didn’t argue or question. He simply obeyed, relying on his supple strength to twist and contort beneath Yuri, scrambling to free himself.

That feigned escape attempt was enough. Yuri’s mind stopped its wandering and snapped back to attention as the predatory instinct went off. Struggle. Food. Feed.

He latched onto Phichit’s neck with a low growl. The moment his fangs pierced that skin, Phichit stilled, relaxing into the feeding, his free hand brushing lightly back and forth over Yuri’s hipbone. Yuri fed slowly. He refused to leave Phichit too weak from overeagerness, not after the quiet gift he’d given so Yuri could be coaxed into eating in the first place. Eventually, Phichit’s hand tightened around Yuri’s hip. He withdrew instantly, licking over the punctures a few times so they would start healing, and lay down. He stared up at the ceiling, body sated but mind wild again, and let Phichit curl against him.

“Better?” the man asked, voice thick with drowsiness.

_Such a lightweight_ , Yuri thought with fond bemusement. “Much. Cпасибо.”

He didn’t get a response. Phichit had already drifted off, his body growing heavier with the weight of sleep. Yuri lifted his injured arm and flexed his hand. Rolled his wrist. Stretched over and over, testing his limits as he felt his flesh grow and reknit. Tomorrow he’d try to convince Yakov and Victor to let him go out hunting. And if they refused, he’d pretend to obey their orders and slip out when they weren’t looking. It was time for the hunter to become the hunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up going a little sideways on me, but I have no regrets. Any time I can fit in Phichit the blessed boy, I'm content. Yuri may be keeping it in his pants for now, but Chapter Three holds no such illusions ...


	3. Say No to This

He’d never seen anything like this before. Otabek had seen some shit, but even his stomach curdled at the grisly sight before him. Leo hunched several feet away, emptying his dinner a polite distance from the scene so nothing was disturbed. The Brotherhood had intercepted the emergency call, which bought the hunters a short period of time before the real emergency services arrived.

There was no point though. The corpse was already cooling. Otabek could only pray that the end had been swift. Judging from the gaping wound where her throat had once been, he wasn’t sure if that was possible. He’d have to wait until they got their hands on the M.E.’s report to find out how much blood was missing. The sticky, discolored spray against the wall and pool underneath her warned that not much had been taken. That was concerning.

“I’ve never … seen a … pleasure kill before,” Leo choked out between heaves.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ve never seen a kill like this either,” Otabek admitted.

He crouched beside the body and drew his silver stiletto from his boot. The blade flashed in the dim light of the alley as he used it to lift her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap. No scratches or signs of defensive wounds. Her nails were impeccable, a French manicure, with no sign of flesh under them. She hadn’t fought back against her attacker.

A dark mark on the back of her other hand caught his eye. It was a stamp from a club, its lines still crisp and fresh. She hadn’t been there long before she left if the ink was that clean. He snapped a few pictures with his phone and checked the area around the body. No other obvious clues left, unfortunately.

With a sigh, he returned the knife to his boot and rejoined Leo, who looked sheepish at keeping distance from the body. With his hair fallen from its queue and his face pale from puking, he looked younger than he was. Otabek remembered the horror of his first introduction to feral vampire attacks. The best thing to do at this point was to give Leo a task, something to distract him. Otabek pulled up the picture of the stamp and offered his phone to Leo. “Recognize this one?”

The younger man squinted and manipulated the picture. He handed back the phone. “It’s from Echolalia. New club a few blocks from here.”

“Tell me about it as we walk.”

Leo kept pace at Otabek’s side, leading the way down ominously quiet streets. “It’s been on the scene for almost five years. Really popular, especially with the young crowd. Not too expensive.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and furrowed his brow, thinking. “Tonight’s ladies’ night.”

“So she would have gotten in for free, but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of that many women,” Otabek said grimly. He hated complications like this.

“And no one would have thought twice about her leaving with a stranger,” Leo added. “It sucks, but a lot of the people go there for a casual mid-week hook up.”

“Okay, we go there and check around. If there’s that much prey in the area, he might be stupid enough to go back.”

They were two blocks from the club when Otabek’s phone rang. He answered immediately and was met with the familiar voice of his Brotherhood handler. “Brother Altin, is your inspection of the body complete?”

“Yessir. Brother de la Iglesia and I are following up on a lead.”

His handler made a noise of discontentment, so Otabek patted Leo’s shoulder and indicated they should pause.

“Sir, did something else come up?”

“One of our analysts caught sign of a break in at a nearby blood bank. We believe it was a malfunction, since the alarm went off again a moment later.”

“With activity in the area, it couldn’t hurt for us to check though,” Otabek said. “Would you like us to visit?”

“Send Brother de la Iglesia. His handler will text him the address. You continue on with this lead. Both of you keep us informed on what you find.”

“Yessir.”

Leo waited patiently for him to hang up before asking, “What now?”

“Alarm went off at a blood bank. They’re texting you the address. Meet me at the club when you’re done?”

His brother in arms nodded, focused on the message that alerted on his phone. “This isn’t too far away. I should be back fast.” He gave Otabek a grin, clapped him on the shoulder, and jogged away in the opposite direction. “Good hunting.”

“Good hunting,” Otabek called back.

He reached the club and got in without any difficulty. It probably didn’t hurt that the bouncer and the man checking the list were treated to the chorus of feminine trills and giggles as he headed for the front of the line. He didn’t even have to bribe anyone. Inside, the crush seemed evenly split between the dance floor and the bar. The DJ wasn’t bad; Otabek would have changed up some of the beats, but the music didn’t make him want to stuff cocktail napkins in his ears. Still, he wasn’t sure where to start.

Leo had drastically understated how many women were around. Without a better idea of the type of women his prey was stalking, Otabek had little choice but to focus on the men instead. Several were tall and dark-haired, but most were already paired off. One briefly held his attention. The man kept looking around the bar, clearly scoping out the options. Otabek was about to move in closer when the man’s face lightened and he called out to a group who cheered and waved him over. Lead gone, Otabek let his shoulders slump and decided it would be better to grab a table and wait for Leo to join him. They’d have better luck getting people to talk to them if they were together anyway. An intense single man asking questions was off-putting; a pair of men, one of whom still looked barely of drinking age with an easy smile, would go a long way to easing women’s suspicions of their intentions.

He’d found himself a quiet spot to watch the dance floor when the skin on the back of his neck prickled. Years of experience had him reaching casually into his jacket for a weapon, a movement arrested without warning by a pale hand clasping his forearm.

“None of that. I’m just here for a chat.”

The accented voice sparked through his brain, setting off a cascade of inappropriate physical responses. He gritted his teeth and let the blond vampire pull his hand from his jacket. “You realize this is the second time you’ve gotten the drop on me,” he remarked, resting his hands in plain sight on the table.

“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are, Otabek Altin.”

He shivered at the sing-song delivery. So Yuri had done his research. Otabek was torn between flattery and a healthy dose of fear. Shoring up his courage, he finally looked at the vampire.

He shouldn’t have. Yuri had been attractive the night before, but tonight he stole Otabek’s breath. Tight crimson pants paired with a fitted t-shirt so soft looking Otabek had to stop himself from reaching out to pet it. He’d pulled his hair up, only a few tendrils escaping the messy braids swept into a ponytail. And he’d done something with his eyes, added make-up which made them stand out even more. Somehow, that minor smudged addition turned his beauty from glass-sharp clarity into debauchery. Otabek’s mind sprang forward into lurid fantasies of the vampire stretched out beneath him, sweat ruining the careful application of shadow and liner. Of flipping him to his stomach so it was ground into his pillowcases and sheets the next morning. His cock pulsed and Otabek bit back an oath.

He tilted his head back to rest against the wall. _I hate you._

“The feeling is mutual.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He glanced back, surprised to see the vampire looking offended.

“Since we aren’t pulling punches tonight,” Yuri continued, his lip curling, “do I get to know _why_ I’m on your list?”

“No one who can rip out throats should look this good.” Fuck. He needed to stop talking. He kept saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Still, the pale flush rising to Yuri’s cheeks was almost worth his mistake. “I don’t rip out throats.” His scowl deepened when Otabek scoffed. “And I thought hunters were supposed to kill vampires, not flirt with them.”

Flirt? That’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? He was rusty as hell, but Yuri didn’t seem to mind. The crowd roiled around them and Otabek had the strange sensation that they’d created their own tiny island of space. They stood close, probably too close if Leo were to walk in and spy them. Logically, he knew the curve of Yuri’s body toward his was a simple defensive posture. Any move Otabek made would be quickly negated. But to anyone else, it would look … intimate.

_No. Stop, Altin._ The mission. Focus on the mission. A woman was just murdered and you’re too busy eye-fucking the enemy to get justice for her.

“I’m not flirting. Why are you really here?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and waved a lazy hand in the air. “I’m _bored_. Contrary to the Brotherhood’s belief, we aren’t hunting all day, every day. Or all night, every night, I suppose.” A faint smirk curved the edges of his mouth and he ran his fingers through Otabek’s hair, fascinated by whatever he saw when he did it. “Sometimes we get lucky and find other distractions.”

Otabek reached out and snatched Yuri’s raised arm near the elbow, forcing those hypnotic fingers from his hair. The vampire hissed before he could hide the pain and they both froze. The flashing lights of the club scattered over Yuri’s skin, leaving him flickering in and out of shadow. A particularly bright explosion of light illuminated the pink line of a healing injury. An injury he’d given the vampire the previous night.

“I knew it,” he snarled, jerking Yuri forward. “Someone’s been a glutton for this to heal so fast.”

In his haste, he’d made a huge miscalculation. Yuri did indeed come closer with the harsh tug, so close that his thigh slid between Otabek’s legs, their hips settling against each other with eerie perfection. Which meant he could feel Yuri’s growing erection. Which meant Yuri could feel how he was already fully hard. Fight or flight. Or fuck. His brain shorted and he stood there dumbly, incapable of determining which option to take.

And then Yuri’s free hand caressed him through his pants and Otabek nearly came right there.

His hand spasmed around Yuri’s arm and he hunched with an involuntary contraction through his entire core. He pressed his face against Yuri’s neck, groaning as he rode out the perilous wave of sensation.

“Not even going to buy me dinner first?” Yuri purred, continuing to tease.

“Prostitutes are expensive,” Otabek shot back, desperate for distraction or release or death.

To his surprise, the vamp tilted his head back and laughed, a brilliant, clear peal of amusement. His hand dropped away—Otabek wasn’t sure to rail against that or send up a prayer of thanks—and he twisted his arm down, turning the tables and tugging Otabek along with him. “Dance with me.”

Bad idea. Worst fucking idea ever.

But if he danced with Yuri, wasn’t he technically keeping the closest eye possible on him? That sounded pretty damn responsible while he waited for Leo to arrive as back-up.

He ended up in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies, following Yuri’s crooked finger like a sheep to slaughter. The vampire wrapped his arms around Otabek’s neck and pressed flush against him. The man had a body made for sin and the way he moved to the music, with a dancer’s grace, destroyed Otabek. He silently worked up through multiplication tables, conjugated Russian verbs, recited every master artist from the Baroque period, then the composers … Nothing helped.

Until Yuri complained, “You haven’t apologized for burning me.”

_That_ got Otabek’s attention. “Why would I apologize? I was supposed to _kill_ you.”

Yuri snorted and did something with his hips that made Otabek’s eyes roll back in his head. “You expect me sit around praising your generosity for not killing me while you ruin all my fun for the second night in a row? I don’t think so.”

Fury provided him a brief, blessed moment of clarity. He spun the vampire around, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him from escaping. “A woman who came from this club was found murdered. And, lo and behold, when I walk in I find _you_. I have every intention of ruining your fun, kitten.”

Yuri glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened, the kohl lining them accentuating the movement. “You think _I_ killed her?”

He leaned close enough that his mouth brushed Yuri’s ear as he whispered,“You ripped out her throat.”

Instead of moving away, which Otabek had expected, Yuri glared off an interested observer a few dancers away and pressed back further, until his body remolded to Otabek’s while they moved to the music. Whether Otabek wanted to grind harder against the bastard or push him away, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Yuri’s hand was on his, snaking its way higher along his arm, curving up to his neck, the back of his head, dragging his ear down so those mocking lips could whisper, “In case you couldn’t tell, she’s really not my type.” He arched his back and Otabek’s knees buckled. The vampire used that tiny shift to twist his head and Otabek didn’t know who started the kiss, but it was messy and angry and, damn, Yuri tasted so fucking good, like cranberries and vodka and …

Not blood.

He jerked back and Yuri let him escape, although his half-lidded eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Oh, shit,” Otabek whispered, earning him another laugh from the vampire.

“Explain _that_ alibi to your fucking superiors,” Yuri murmured.

“It wasn’t you.”

“No.”

He didn’t fight Yuri’s turning in his arms. He was busy scrambling through what he knew. There wasn’t much. The gaps were too many, too great for him to know what to do next.

He should have paid more attention, because his slow train of thought  derailed completely with the return of a talented hand to his dick. Yuri rubbed his face against Otabek’s cheek, continuing the conversation with enviable nonchalance as he stroked and worked Otabek to a frenzy in the middle of the crowded club. “I might know who it was though. I have a proposal I think you’ll be interested in.”

His entire body felt like it was being shocked with fingers of lightning. He couldn’t believe no one else could see those flashes of energy crashing through his nervous system, cresting and retreating while Yuri danced him closer and closer to the edge. No one in the Brotherhood warned it would be like this. This wasn’t temptation. This was every moral he’d clung to burned to ashes and scattered to the corners of the earth. This was a need so powerful he wanted to weep.

“Fuck,” he ground out, briefly relying on Yuri’s strength to keep him upright when the man did a light twist of his fingers around the crown, which had no right being that sensitive through layers of clothing. “ _Talk_.”

“Not here,” Yuri said. “Bathroom?”

“Too obvious.”

The vamp chuckled and flicked his wrist and Otabek wheezed an incoherent curse against the skin of his shoulder. “Like we aren’t be obvious already.”

“Shut up. Outside?”

“Fine.”

It was a testament to his desperation that Otabek didn’t hesitate to follow Yuri when he slipped out one of the emergency exits. If he was walking into a trap, it meant he’d be dead soon, which was the same outcome if he didn’t get to free his aching, leaking cock and stripe Yuri’s skin with strands of his come. The second he heard the door latch behind them, he was on the man with a hunter’s speed.

Yuri grunted when Otabek slammed into him, but managed to stay upright while Otabek devoured his mouth. They stumbled their way further down the alley, into the quiet, secret shadows of the nearby building’s alcove. There, hidden from prying eyes, it became a frantic race to undo flies and wrap hands around straining, too hot flesh. Thrusting up into their tightly locked hands, Otabek finally, _finally_ heard Yuri’s breathy whimper. Power flooded through him at the knowledge that this ancient, experienced creature was just as desperate, just as overcome by what they were doing.

He smiled and adjust his grip. Yuri’s body tightened and Otabek knew he was close to breaking. He could win this battle. He would make Yuri come first, show how much control he had. He just had to keep moving … like this … again and again … unable to tear his gaze away from that beautiful face contorting in a silent, desperate paroxysm. The twist of his mouth exposed a heart-stopping glimpse of fangs before he gave a strangled gasp and spent, covering Otabek’s cock and hand with warm ejaculate. Triumphant, Otabek let himself give in to the orgasm he’d fought off for too long. It stole his vision, his air, his control. He might have passed out. He was past the point of caring.

They slumped together in the corner of the alcove, panting and pressing sweaty foreheads together, the hot scent of fresh sex clinging to the air around them.

“We work together,” Yuri slurred. “Catch who’s doing this. Keep fucking.”

Otabek dimly recognized that this was a negotiation. “Hate fucking,” he corrected.

Yuri shivered against him and tilted up his head to steal a languorous kiss. “Work together,” he murmured when they finally broke apart, “catch the killer, keep hate fucking.”

There was something they were missing. Something important. Oh … “Kill each other later.”

“Sure.”

He wanted to hold out. He wanted to make Yuri squirm a bit. Instead, his phone went off. Yuri sniggered when Otabek tried to figure out how to clean up their mess so he could free his phone from his jacket pocket. The ringing stopped. Started again. Otabek swore. Yuri rolled his eyes and dipped his clean hand into Otabek’s jacket, pulling out his cell, answering, and holding it out to Otabek, who accepted it with some chagrin.

“Hey, Otabek, you there?” Leo asked.

Otabek started to respond, but Yuri lifted his come-slick hand and, with a smirk and locked eyes, began to lick him clean. Otabek’s world shrank to the slow, wet slide of Yuri’s pink tongue over his skin, lapping up the mess with consummate skill.

“Altin?”

“Hang on.”

Yuri grinned at his reedy request and finished. Content with his work, he released the now clean, if slightly damp, hand. He brushed a finger over Otabek’s lips and quietly promised, “I’ll find you,” before slipping out of the alcove, adjusting his pants, and disappearing out on the main road. Otabek swallowed hard, pinned his cell between his ear and shoulder, and tried to put himself to rights. It was physically possible, but mentally … “Sorry, Leo. I’m here. What’s up?”

The resignation in his friend’s voice brought a wave of guilt and shame crashing down on Otabek, even before the news sank in fully. “Turns out it wasn’t a false alarm.”


	4. The Kids Aren't Alright

When he got back to the nest, the shelter was quiet and dark, with the exception of the kitchen light. He headed there, not quite sure who would be back. The only person in sight was Phichit, who looked up from his laptop and laughed. “Someone got laid.”

Yuri grinned back at him, limbs loose for the first time in ages. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” the Thai man declared, partially shutting the lid of his computer. “Seriously, go shower before they get back. You know Milla will have a million questions for you otherwise.”

“Do you know how it went?” he asked, edging slowly toward his room. As much as he’d hated being banned from the hit on the blood bank, he couldn’t fully regret it. If he hadn’t been pouting, he wouldn’t have gone to the club. And if he hadn’t gone to the club, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to fuck the freaking boogeyman and experience a life-changing orgasm.

“I guess the lion showed up and tried to stop them, but you know he’s no match when everyone’s together. They got in and out without a hitch. Yuuri texted that they’re on their way back. Thank God Altin wasn’t …” Phichit trailed off, mouth falling slack. “Shit, you fucked him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

Phichit rose from his seat, closing in on Yuri with the same care someone would take approaching a feral cat. “No, but it’s obvious from your glazed expression and the stains all over that shirt. That’s why Altin didn’t go to help him.” He shook his head in wonder. “I thought Yuuri said he was incorruptible.”

“Well, apparently incorruptible means thirsty for vampire dick.”

“So was he good?”

Yuri suppressed a shiver of delight and tried to look noble. “He’s got potential.”

“You realize this could go horribly wrong? A hunter and a vampire … Victor and Yuuri worked out, but that’s kind of a one in a million thing.”

“Yeah, it could go to shit fast. But it’s good enough that we agreed to wait to kill each other until after we find Georgi.”

Phichit’s eyes widened. “He knows about Georgi?”

“Not yet. But I won’t be able to lead him off the trail forever.” Yuri pointed toward the hall. “I’ll go clean up.”

“Be careful,” Phichit called after him. “Altin is not someone you want to cross.”

The warning didn’t upset him like it once might have. Yuri had seen enough to know that the Brotherhood was ruthless and vindictive. Otabek had risen in their ranks for a reason and he doubted it was simply for being a congenial colleague. Working alongside him presented plenty of risk. But if Otabek was as talented as everyone said, he’d track Georgi down the fastest and Yuri intended to be there when they faced off. Yep, he’d use Otabek to find Georgi, then sweep in to rescue him before Otabek could finish putting him down.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy the everliving fuck out the volatile chemistry between them.

He reached his room and stripped on his way to the shower. He washed quickly, jerked off even quicker because the memory of Otabek’s hand on his cock was too much, and returned to his room to dig around for clean clothes. He settled on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy shirt, slipped his cell in his pocket, and padded on bare feet back to the kitchen, braiding his wet hair back along the way. He’d barely finished heating up a mug of blood when the family returned.

Sara pranced in first, eyes bright, and proudly set down a bulging backpack on the table.

“Good night?” Yuri asked, blowing over the surface of his drink so no coagulated layer formed. He despised when that skin stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“It was so much _fun_ ,” Sara proclaimed, unzipping the bag to expose the pouches of blood inside. She handed them off to Phichit, who began stocking the empty fridge. “Did Phichit tell you that the lion showed up?”

“He did. Why didn’t you kill him?”

Victor walked in next, another backpack slung over his shoulder. He gave Yuri a cheeky grin. “He’s too adorable. And he’s got so much potential!”

“Second time I’ve heard that tonight,” Phichit mumbled. He cackled when Yuri glared at him.

“Oh?” Victor passed his bag off to Sara and turned to leave, only to be stopped in the kitchen doorway by the appearance of Yuuri, who handed off one of the two backpacks he carried.

“Holy crap,” Yuri muttered, taking a sip of his blood, “did you empty the place?”

“Of course not,” Yuuri said. He smiled at Victor and brushed a hand along his jaw as they set down their loot. “We just hit it on a good night.”

Sara nodded, tossed her empty backpack aside, and began unpacking the next. “They’re running mobile blood drives this week, so there was a surplus.”

“I’ll make sure to get into the logs tonight to account for these,” Phichit promised. “Yuuri, did you break the refrigeration unit on one of the trucks like I asked?”

“Of course.”

Victor seized the opportunity to press a kiss to the knuckles of Yuuri’s hand. “He knew exactly what to do.”

Yuri faked a gag. “Get a room,” he told his mentor before focusing on his mate. “So what happened, pig?”

Yuuri ignored his foul humor and reached for the mug. Yuri, in a rare moment of goodwill, let him take it and gulp down a few sips. He licked his lips and handed what was left back before relaying the story. “We got in and Phichit turned off the alarm. Minami had scouted it last week, so he was familiar with the layout. We were packing up when the lion arrived and used a code to get in. Now we at least know that the Brotherhood is watching the local banks. Still, with all of us there, it didn’t take much to put him out of commission and leave.”

“He didn’t see any of your faces, right? Especially Minami’s?”

“Of course not! I’m not an amateur anymore,” protested the latter, walking in at last with Milla and Yakov.

Yuri wanted to roll his eyes, but the kid had a point. To be honest, he wasn’t a kid, even if he sometimes acted like one. Nearly as tall as Yuuri, with shaggy strawberry blond hair and a figure that had finished filling out with lean muscle, the former orphan had finally grown comfortable in his own skin. The poor bastard had plenty of baggage to work through. He’d been picked up by the Brotherhood to be trained as an expendable blood bag. The assholes weren’t above baiting desperate vampires with young, fresh children. If they lived through the encounters, great. If not, there were plenty of unwanted children out there who would do anything for a chance at a better life. Luckily for the brat, he’d been assigned to Yuuri, who kept him alive long past the Brotherhood’s expectations.

So unprecedented was his survival that the Brotherhood faced a difficult choice after Yuuri’s defection: train Minami as a hunter or throw him into a situation he would never survive. They chose for the quiet assassination. It was dumb luck that the vampire they were trying to entice happened to be Seung-gil, the family’s Korean contact and all around underworld badass. He’d spirited Minami away to America to be reunited with Yuuri and the kid had never left, content to take on the job of a donor as a kind of life-debt or some other sappy shit Yuri didn’t understand.

“Good job,” Yuri finally mumbled after a rather pointed look from the kid’s savior.

Minami beamed and headed to the fridge to take over Phichit’s job. The Thai man handed it off without complaint and returned to his laptop. He’d started to work, focused on his screen, when he decided to ruin the comfortable evening by saying, “Yuri had a pretty successful night out too.”

“Fuck you, hamster,” Yuri spat when all the attention turned on him. He’d hoped to relay the evening’s events to Yakov in private. No chance of that now.

“I thought I told you not to make a scene while we were gone.” Yakov crossed his arms and glared, but didn’t look surprised by the news that Yuri had disobeyed and gone aboveground. Victor, on the other hand, looked pissed.

“I didn’t make a scene. I went to a club because I was bored—”

“You’re still healing,” Victor began with infuriating patriarchal concern, but Yuri flipped him off and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“—and I ran into Altin while I was there.”

Silence. Ominous, tense silence that reminded Yuri of the calm before a storm.

“And?” Victor pressed. Amazing how a single word could drip with venom. Yuuri stepped closer to his mate. The move was an obvious show of support for Victor, but was also a subtle way to put another body between the two Russians and offer slight protection to Yuri. The gesture pissed him off.

Without thinking, he snapped, “And there’s a reason he didn’t show up to help the lion.”

“They fucked,” Phichit casually threw out, fingers flying over the keys.

Milla gave a sharp giggle. Yakov turned bright red and a vein began pulsing on his forehead. Victor was speechless for once in his life. Poor Yuuri’s mouth had fallen open and he stared at Yuri like he was unrecognizable. Only Sara and Minami seemed nonplussed by the announcement, although their work slowed for a moment when they looked at Yuri for confirmation.

“How—” Yuuri’s voice cracked a little and he swallowed before trying again. “How did you manage that?”

“I grabbed his dick,” Yuri deadpanned. “How the fuck do you think I managed that, pig?”

The poor man closed his eyes, pressed his hands to the bridge of his nose, and heaved a full-body sigh. “No, Yuri, that’s not what I meant. Look, when we train to be hunters, we’re warned over and over again that someday we’ll face a vampire who will test our loyalty to the cause.”

“Clearly,” Victor murmured, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist and pressing his face to his hair to hide a smile.

“It’s serious,” Yuuri warned, glaring at his mate. “Most are so afraid of that temptation they kill any vampire they think _could_ make them feel something.” He shifted his attention to Yuri, who shrank a little from the intensity of the former hunter’s stare. “I’ve run missions with Altin. The man is the Brotherhood’s poster child. If you get under his skin, if you push him or make him question this war, they’ll do anything they can to get him back under their thumb. And that’s not even taking into account what _he_ may do if he’s backed into a corner.”

“I can take care of myself,” Yuri muttered, but there was no heat in his words.

Yuuri caught that. He always did. He slid out of Victor’s grip and crossed the empty space to reach Yuri. His fingers clasped his chin and lifted, forcing him to meet dark eyes. “Be careful, _tora_. The stake will still pierce your heart whether his is breaking or not.”

Part of Yuri wanted to spit and rage and argue. Part of him knew that this warning came from brutal experience and he wondered if the tiny flame of warmth kindled inside him was love for Yuuri’s concern. Maybe he was torn because he couldn’t imagine dying, leaving his family behind. He was a warrior, but he wasn’t stupid. He wanted to live. Even though the humility of the gesture pained him, he nodded his understanding.

Yuuri drew back once he received that affirmation. The worry in his eyes wasn’t gone, but had lessened.

“As long as you’re careful, you won’t see him again,” Victor said.

“We’re going to work together.”

Yakov took a step forward, the slash of his hand freezing Victor before he could copy the movement. “What?”

Yuri set down his mug, eying Victor warily as Yuuri tried to calm him. “He’s after Georgi.”

“Altin found him?” Sara asked. Yuri rubbed at the dull ache in his chest when he heard the longing in her voice. Georgi was like their older brother. He had told them stories as he tucked them in as children, he had laughed and joked about finding the perfect woman to settle down with and raise a family. He’d been emotional and open and as much as they mocked him for it, they never once thought they’d survive their near immortality without his humanizing touch.

“Not yet. But he’s on the trail.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Milla flinch like he’d hit her. Sara abandoned Minami and took Milla’s hand.

“What trail? Georgi’s in the wind,” Minami protested.

Yuri shook his head and focused on holding Yakov’s gaze. He couldn’t bear to see anyone else’s face when he delivered this news. “He’s gone feral. Ripped out a woman’s throat tonight.” His words had the same effect of silver shot, wounding all close by. Yuuri pressed his face against Victor’s neck, soothing his mate as best he could. The sight of Victor’s raw pain, the knowledge that he and Georgi had grown up together, that they were only a few years apart, spurred him on. “I won’t let the Brotherhood find him first, not after what they did. And if Altin is their best now that the pig is with us, so be it. He _wants_ me. That’s an advantage we can’t lose. If selling my soul is what it takes to get Georgi back, I’ll give Altin my body, no holds barred.”

The horrible silence nearly choked him. He clamped his jaw to stop an apology from escaping, from trying to excuse his emotional outburst. Damn it, he’d _meant_ it, every word. Their family was more important than anything and if these idiots couldn’t see that, it shouldn’t matter to him.

Yakov cleared his throat. “Find Georgi. We’ll deal with the rest after.”

He caught himself with the counter, weakened from the shock of their leader’s acceptance. Victor looked like he wanted to argue, but a soothing hand through his hair from his mate, and he swallowed whatever castigation he was preparing. Instead, he stalked across the kitchen until he stood inches apart from Yuri, his fine-boned face tilted down as he watched the younger vampire.

He didn’t address him at first. Instead, he called out, “Phichit, tell him everything you can about Altin.”

A murmured assent.

Victor still hadn’t moved. “What?” Yuri growled, uncomfortable at the older vampire’s strangeness.

To his shock, Victor wrapped him in a hug. It was warm since Victor had just fed, comfortable, and far, far too emotional for Yuri’s taste. He tried to squirm free, but Victor’s arms tightened like steel bands around him.

His hands spasmed. It took immense effort, but he raised his arms and wrapped them around Victor’s back, heart pounding when he felt him tremble. His mentor feared for him. Yuri squeezed tighter, wishing he could ease that tension, but there was no point in making promises he may not be able to keep. No point in lying and saying that he was only doing this for Georgi’s sake and that he wasn’t eager to take advantage of Otabek’s attraction. No point worrying Victor now when that would come soon enough later.

“Do what you have to,” Victor whispered to him, “but the moment you can, finish Altin and bring Georgi home. I refuse to bury two brothers in American soil.”

“Да,” he promised.


	5. Irresistible

He didn’t know the phone was in his back pocket until it buzzed. Shocked at the sensation, Otabek nearly dropped his coffee carrier. He recovered, flushing a little as he apologized to the young woman he nearly spilled it on, and pushed his way out of the coffee shop. Safe in the anonymity of the street, he dug it out. He’d never seen this phone before. He would have remembered the ridiculous leopard print case. It wasn’t passcode protected, so it took nothing to open and see he had a message.

“Told you I’d find you.”

He didn’t need a name to know who it was from. With a wry smile, he headed back toward Leo’s apartment, typing out a message one handed as he avoided people passing on the sidewalk. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s only been two days.”

“Too long.”

He wished he was lying. But the past two days had been hellish stretches of time, especially since he was left waiting on Yuri’s promise of _I_ _’ll find you_ and nothing more. Work was shit. The blood bank fiasco left Leo with a sprained knee and a wounded ego. Honestly, he was lucky he hadn’t been killed. Maybe that’s why he was so irritable. The vamps hadn’t tried to hurt him. They’d locked him in a storage closet with some snacks and juice from the recovery room. One of the women had even left him a sippy straw. He’d sprained his knee crawling out a window and falling awkwardly in the alley outside. The Brotherhood was frustrated that no perpetrators had been caught, but Otabek managed to talk them down from punishing Leo for what happened. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he went up, unprepared, against an entire nest of vamps. They hadn’t made much progress with the first murder, either.

First.

The next night, while he waited at a different club for Yuri to sidle up behind him, shamelessly use him, and trade a little more information, another murder had been committed across town. Some aspects were similar. Single victim out clubbing earlier in the evening. Throat gone, missing blood incidental instead of purposeful. The only difference was that the victim was male. The Brotherhood was adamant that another murder not occur. Otabek bit his tongue instead of asking them how two Hunters, one injured, were supposed to patrol the entire fucking city each night. That would only bite him in the ass later when he needed their support.

And by support, he meant mercy. He did _not_ want them to kill him if they learned he was hooking up with the Ice Tiger of Russia.

Said tiger sent another message. “Miss me already?”

He probably shouldn’t share the information, but he was curious if Yuri actually intended to work _with_ him. Assuming it would lead nowhere, he texted, “Another murder last night. Handler’s pissed.” There, that was an understatement.

“I can ask around. Busy tonight?”

“Patrolling.”

“Want me to join?”

His pulse sped at the selfish hope that they’d find another private alcove. Maybe an abandoned building even, somewhere they could actually remove some clothes. “Sure.” And, even though he knew it was daylight and there was no real way to act on his rash impulses, he added, “You busy now?”

Dots. Nothing. More dots.

He frowned and tapped the phone against his cup of coffee. He was nearly back to Leo’s. The apartment building was older, but clean. Most of the tenants were a mixture of college students and workers with odd hours, so Leo’s strange schedule wasn’t out of the ordinary. Otabek was staying with him for now, sleeping on the pull-out couch. He’d turned down the Brotherhood’s offer of finding him official rooms; he didn’t intend on staying local _that_ long. Still, he didn’t want to sit beside a fellow hunter while texting a vampire. Leo wasn’t stupid and Otabek wasn’t arrogant. If he let himself get out of control, he would get caught.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. His parents would be horrified to see him now. He was betraying everything the Brotherhood stood for. Worse, even when he reminded himself of that fact, he couldn’t muster up enough guilt to want to change. He’d spent years hunting, years trying to take revenge for what was done to him, and it had left him lonely and empty. The cycle never stopped. Meeting Yuri had been a revelation. He’d felt more alive in those few minutes than in the years preceding them.

It was dangerous. He needed to slow down before he made mistakes he couldn’t take back. Resolved to his course of action, Otabek prepared to type out a goodbye. Then the picture came through.

He walked into the door of Leo’s building, which had been opened by a friendly man taking his dog for a walk. Otabek promised he was fine, the coffee was fine, thanked the man for helping him inside, and found himself a dark corner of the first landing to look more closely at the image.

It wasn’t much, all things considered. Yuri standing in the middle of what must have been his room—rumpled dark sheets on his unmade bed, a walking vampire cliche—taking a mirror selfie. Except, he was wearing a low-slung pair of shorts and a ragged, loose tank he lifted at the bottom hem so it showed off the scattering of barely visible blond hair trailing down toward the sharp V formed at his hips. His hair was mussed and he managed to look bored, even though his green eyes were fixed on the camera’s lens. It gave the disquieting and erotic sense that he was looking directly at Otabek.

“That’s a no?” he typed.

It sent before he could erase it. He was weak. Pathetic. Horny.

“Dumbass,” he mumbled to himself before stuffing his phone in a pocket and trudging up the rest of the stairs.

Leo’s apartment was on the third floor. As per all Brotherhood regulations, it was a corner apartment, near the stairwell inside and with a fire escape outside. When he opened the door, Leo had managed to get himself to the couch, where he lay playing a video game and icing his knee.

“Caffeine hit,” Otabek announced, holding up the coffee carrier. “I didn’t buy any bagels.”

“They’re way too expensive there,” Leo said. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

Otabek put the coffees beside Leo and headed for the fridge. He was pulling out the pizza box when his new phone vibrated again. He took it out, hiding the case with the box, and sucked in a breath. Another picture. No shirt this time. Yuri’s musculature was the delicate balance of form and function and Otabek felt giddy for being justified in thinking Yuri moved like a dancer. He was built like one. He was beautiful, but there was no doubt of his strength. Leo was distracted, so Otabek allowed his eyes to dart lower. The shorts remained, but Yuri was cupping himself, showing off a sizable bulge through the fabric.

Instant need coursing through his veins. He’d touched Yuri’s cock. He knew its heft, its heat, its curve in his hand. That made this teasing even worse.

“Son of a bitch,” Leo said.

Otabek jerked before realizing Leo was talking to the game, not him. _Focus, Altin_. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket, ignoring when it buzzed again, and took the food to Leo, who muttered a thanks and went back to killing some kind of monster on-screen.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Otabek warned.

Leo grunted an affirmative and Otabek fled.

His hands shook when he locked the door of the tiny bathroom. They kept shaking when he pulled out the phone.

New message waiting. “Depends.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Otabek breathed. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. Hunting didn’t leave time for relationships. Even his rare hook-ups never led to anything like this; Brother Katsuki was all for drunken sex to take the edge off the loneliness, but the thought of typing out their desires, of sending _pictures_ would have killed them both from embarrassment.

He didn’t feel embarrassed now. There was something about Yuri, something compelling that hooked him in the gut and made him forget everything rational. If he was smart, he’d meet the vamp tonight and put a stake in him. Too bad his dick said that was not going to happen in the foreseeable future.

With a strangled whine, he stabbed out, “On?”

The response was too fast. Yuri must have been waiting on him. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He stripped with mindless devotion. Shirt thrown into the corner, shoes kicked off, pants and socks shucked so he stood nearly naked between the shower and the toilet, attempting to snap a picture with the mirror. It came out hurried, a little out of focus, not nearly far enough down for Yuri to have to send what Otabek most wanted. He sent it anyway. It was a short wait.

“Damn.”

“That’s it?” Otabek whispered, staring at his phone, mentally urging it to show him another message. Nothing. He flung his towel over the curtain rod. Still nothing. He turned on the water. Blank screen.

Clearly, Yuri was waiting on something better. Otabek stared down at the tent in his boxers and wondered if he was really that brave. Charging into pitch-black sewers and fighting killing machines equipped with teeth and incredible senses seemed tame in comparison. He wavered. Part of him was willing to send Yuri a picture of anything he wanted, as long as he got to see that cock again. Another part kept whispering that this was a set-up. The Brotherhood would find out what he was doing. He’d be killed for treason. He’d be killed for treason because he was sexting a vampire he’d met two nights ago and who had turned his entire world upside down because of a pair of pretty eyes and a body that haunted his dreams.

He hated himself a little when he typed, “Gotta shower.” He hated himself more when he sent it and saw the _delivered_ appear.

Dots.

Fucking dots.

“Me too.” The angle of this picture was different. Yuri was lying down on his bed. His raised shirt partially obstructed the lens, but not enough to hide the white lines painted over his abs or the cock still gripped in his hand.

Otabek swore, an oath he’d only ever heard his father use once because his mother had threatened to kill him if she ever heard it again. Apparently, he did so loud enough that Leo heard. The video game in the other room went quiet and the American called, “Otabek? You okay?”

“Yeah,” he hollered back, lying through his teeth, hand under the band of his boxers, tightening on his erection as if that would stave off his desire instead of inflame it. “Cold water.”

Leo laughed and the game came back on. Otabek needed to text back. Words were hard though. Harder when he stared so hard at the last picture he forgot to breathe on occasion and came to with gusty exhalations and desperate gulps for air.

Yuri saved him. “2nd St. wharf, 9?”

“Yes.”

“Enjoy the shower.”

 

***** 

 

“Leopard print?” he asked with amusement when a familiar cool presence joined him at the wharf. He slipped his phone away, glad he could stop wondering if he needed to text to ensure Yuri was actually coming.

“I liked the case,” Yuri said with a shrug, sidling up beside him where he stood on the edge of the wharf. “But if it’s not good enough, we could talk on your work phone—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Otabek interrupted.

“You ashamed of me, Altin?” the vampire asked, stepping up onto the lowest railing and peering out over the edge at the dark water crashing along the beach. The breeze had been picking up steadily, pushing the waves with more and more force.

“No.” It surprised them both. Otabek didn’t want to think too much about the admission, but it was the truth. He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with Yuri. The man didn’t look like a vamp, unless he smiled when he was overexcited and even then, the fangs could probably be explained away by a normal person. He was painfully earnest, so alive in the moment that Otabek felt shamefully inadequate in comparison. Besides, if another hunter spotted them together, it would be easy enough to say that he was using Yuri for information.

His mouth soured a little with that truth. That’s all this was, after all. Mutual benefit in all areas.

Around them, people moved from food carts and games to shops and tourist attractions. It was chaotic and amusing and he understood why Yuri had picked this as their meeting spot. It was so busy no one would ever recognize them.

“So, victim number two last night, huh?” Yuri asked without preamble.

“A man this time.”

Yuri made a soft noise that indicated he didn’t care about the sex of the victim.

“Doesn’t that matter?” Otabek asked. “Doesn’t it help establish victimology?”

“Maybe with humans. We aren’t usually that close-minded.”

He didn’t understand. That must have been clear because Yuri took one sideways look at him, sighed, and reached to tug the hood of his sweatshirt up. “You know, for being the experts on my kind, your Brotherhood is fucking ignorant.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Yuri made a face and hunched down on the railing. Otabek sighed and threw his arms over the top bar, resting his weight there and staring down at the waves too. They were hypnotic, with the garish colored lights of the wharf and the white glow of the moonlight coloring the spindrift. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood on a beach while a storm blew in.

“Really? I love nights like this.”

He didn’t realize he’d spoken the thought aloud until Yuri responded. A quick glance showed the blond’s face was thoughtful, peaceful almost.

“You enjoy them often?”

Yuri hesitated for a moment before answering. “What’s the point of near immortality if you can’t stop to enjoy the little things?”

Otabek turned that over and over in his head.

Yuri pressed him further. “How often do you stop to appreciate what’s around you?”

“Umm …”

The vampire gave a sharp laugh and jumped down from the railing. His smirk was challenge and insult. “You ever think that that’s why the Brotherhood hates us so much? Because we know how to _live_?”

“I figured it was because you kill people.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. When Otabek didn’t follow, he looked back over his shoulder and raised a brow, silently asking, _Coming?_ He followed. They walked quietly through the crowd, stopping here and there to watch children playing overpriced carnival games, adults trying to finish off melting ice cream cones, seagulls fighting over cold curly fries. They’d almost reached the end of the wharf, only a dark expanse of beach beyond, before Yuri spoke again.

“Most of us don’t kill people. Feeding isn’t about death. It’s about taking as little as you need to survive.”

“As little—”

“Why would we kill off our food supply? Besides, we don’t want to be discovered. Life is hard enough already. Subtlety is the better part of valor and all that crap.”

“What about this vamp who’s killing people?”

Yuri frowned a little and ducked his head. His hair, left loose tonight, fell forward, obscuring more of his face. “I’m not claiming we’re perfect. But vamps usually kill for one of two reasons.”

“Boredom,” Otabek supplied helpfully.

Yuri nodded. “We’ve got sociopaths, just like you do.”

They’d left the wharf behind now and began a slow trudge over the loose sand. There were still a few people around, some laughing and drinking around campfires, others jogging. “And the second reason?”

“They go feral.” The way he said it, the low timbre of his voice, perked Otabek’s interest.

“Pleasure kills?” he asked, trying to clarify and meld his knowledge from the Brotherhood with the vampires’ terminology.

“Stupid fucking term for it,” Yuri growled. He kicked viciously at an empty crab shell and Otabek winced, remembered what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that blow. “There’s nothing pleasurable about going feral.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means you’re in so much suffering you give in to the animal. Base instinct only. You kill out of fear and sometimes don’t remember to feed until it’s too late. It’s incredibly painful. For the victims. For their family.”

There was a story there. Otabek recognized the quiet wound. He had plenty of his own and knew what it took to try to hide them. He didn’t want to prod it though. “Does it ever go away?”

“Depends. Some vampires come in and out of it. Moments of lucidity. Others are just … gone.”

“There was no sign of feeding with either victim. Throats ripped out only.”

Yuri made a noise in the back of his throat and rubbed a hand over his face. “Feral then. Unless you’ve got some big bad in the area who’s decided to stick one to the Brotherhood by going all Jason on your asses.”

They’d rounded a curve in the coastline. Far above them, lights and sounds indicated the coastal highway. There was no one on this stretch of beach. It was dark and quiet and Otabek felt himself relax despite the topic of conversation and the company he kept. Granted, he was heading far away from his patrolling route by this point, but he’d be out all night. They’d met up early for vampire activity anyway. Might as well steal a few more minutes before he got to work.

“I just got here,” Otabek admitted. “I don’t know who’s in the area.”

“Your little lion didn’t tell you?”

It took him a second for the nickname to click. “Leo? Seriously, that’s what you call him?”

Yuri chuckled. “Names are signs of respect.”

He stopped, heart pounding, a little afraid to ask, but too stupid and masochistic not to. “What do you call me?”

Yuri drew to a halt a few steps ahead. His spine straightened, his shoulders squared, and he looked up at the sky like he was searching for some kind of an answer. When he turned back to face Otabek, his expression was wary, but open. “Altin.”

“You use my name.” The revelation crept on him like thunder after lightning strike and the pounding in his chest grew faster.

Yuri scowled and scuffed at the sand with the toe of his shoe. “I use _fucker_ too much to tell the difference between you and everyone else,” he mumbled, although it was an obvious attempt to hide his earlier admission.

_Names are a sign of respect._

“Well, if he hasn’t talked to you about who’s in the area, you’ll want to find out. I haven’t been here long either, but I’ll ask around and tell you what I learn,” Yuri continued, heading back toward the wharf. “I haven’t heard of any feral vampires locally yet, but my contacts are keeping an ear out. Until we hear something, I’d suggest you and the lion don’t patrol alone. You might be good, but I don’t expect you to survive that kind of encounter.”

“No, I suppose not,” Otabek said, mind elsewhere. _He calls me Altin._

He reached out and clasped Yuri’s arm when he passed. The vamp froze, confused, and glared at him. “What?”

“Patrol with me.” He stepped closer, invaded Yuri’s space, watched his lips part, saw his fangs begin to elongate. The moonlight painted him in shadow and silver and Otabek wanted to strip him bare. “I can’t afford any more time away from my area tonight. So come with me. And after …” He trailed off, distracted by the need to push Yuri’s hood back and card his fingers through that fine blond hair.

“After?” Yuri purred, eyes falling closed as he arched into the touch.

“After, I find out what you called me before you took that picture this morning.”


	6. Animals

Yuri knew torture. He knew the pain and helplessness that came from months of wandering without food. Knew the shame of hiding while an injury knitted itself back together. Knew the guilt of a loved one’s death weighing on his shoulders because he wasn’t strong enough to change it.

Patrolling with Otabek, knowing what would happen at the rapidly approaching end of the night, _that_ was a brand new kind of suffering. One that felt … good.

“Thanks for doing this,” Otabek said as they turned down yet another side street and continued their trek.

“Sure.” There was no way he was going to admit that he’d started eyeballing any potentially vacant building with desperation.

They walked side by side. Otabek didn’t seem to mind the lack of distance between them, so close their shoulders would occasionally brush. During those moments, Yuri could smell Otabek, a combination of coffee and leather and herbal lineament, and he found himself half-hard. He kept his hands stuffed in his hoodie’s pocket, trying to hide his arousal, and focused on the task at hand.

There was no sign of activity so far. After hearing Otabek talk more about the second murder, he’d hoped Georgi would take the night off. Feral vampires were rarely active hunters. Most simply … reacted. And Yuri knew that there was a series of disused sewer tunnels in the region where the body had been discovered. Hopefully Georgi had escaped down there, safe from daylight. Safe from hunters.

Around them loomed the skeletal remains of industrial buildings. Yuri had hunted here before a few times, disappointed by the lack of prey. Still, they were a great place to hide for a night for vampires without a family or nest to return to. Yuri risked a glance toward the horizon. There was no sign of dawn’s rosy fingers in the sky, so he was still safe to be out. He tugged his hood up higher, wondering for the first time in centuries what it would be like to see a slant of sunlight over dark hair and warm skin.

“It’s too quiet,” Otabek muttered, skirting a large hole in the sidewalk and distracting Yuri from his sappy thoughts.

“You sound like you want there to be another murder,” Yuri quipped.

“No, but I’d like to catch the vampire doing it so I can go home.”

So the hero of Kazakhstan didn’t want to be in America for long? “Is that why they sent you here? For whoever went feral?”

Otabek made a face. “No. That was just bad timing on my part.”

“What was your real job?”

Otabek shook his head. “Brotherhood business. We may be working together—”

“And fucking,” Yuri interrupted.

The hand Otabek raised to cover his mouth did nothing to hide his smile. “And fucking,” he amended, “but I’d prefer if we can keep the rest of our lives separate.”

“Fine by me.” Yuri had expected as much. To show he held no ill feelings toward the obvious denial, he kicked a rock a few feet ahead to Otabek. Strangely, the man stepped right over it. Yuri frowned, spotted another rock, and timed his steps so he could kick it the same way as the last. The pebble rolled to a stop three paces ahead. Otabek gave him a funny look and, _again_ , stepped right past it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, asshole?” Yuri snapped. “Don’t you know how to play the game?”

“What game?” Otabek asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.

Yuri heaved a sigh, wondered why he always found the dumb ones so attractive, and pulled his hands from his hoodie pocket so he could gesture appropriately. “We’ll start slow. I kick a rock somewhere ahead of you.” He did so.

Otabek paused and watched it rattle down the sidewalk. Yuri flapped an arm at him. “You can’t stop walking! That’s against the rules.”

“Oh, right.” The hunter, still looking confused, started walking again, eying the rock like it was something to stake.

“When you reach it, you kick it back toward me.”

Yuri waited with bated breath to see if Otabek could pull off the simple direction. Bemused, he obeyed and Yuri reached it in two steps and kicked again.

“Now, keep doing it,” he commanded.

Once Otabek understood there was no real point to the game, that it was something distracting to prevent boredom, he got a lot better at it. Soon, Yuri had taught him how to cross-kick, then kick goals between each other’s legs. He was about to show Otabek how to do back-forward-back combos when a metallic screech, barely audible, came from one of the buildings. They both froze.

The pebble rattled away down the sidewalk. Yuri lowered himself into a position closer to a crouch, warily watching the building.

“Heard that too?” Otabek asked him quietly.

Yuri moved closer to the hunter, doing his best to listen for further clues. No other noise reached him, but the uncomfortable sensation of being watched kept him wary. “Might be nothing.”

“Or could be something.”

Yuri sidled closer still, slipping his hand under Otabek’s jacket and tracing his fingers under his shirt, along the skin of his back. Otabek shivered, but continued his steady movement toward some hidden weapon. When he withdrew his hand from an interior pocket, Yuri couldn’t help but give a low, impressed whistle. “Silver?”

A faint flush rose to Otabek’s cheeks; Yuri could sense the blood rushing under the skin. He tightened his grip on his brass—wait, _silver_ —knuckles and nodded.

“Custom?”

Again, a faint nod.

“Holy shit, why do you have to be so cool?” Yuri groaned. He turned a bit, trying to adjust his pants. Otabek noticed and raised a brow. The only appropriate response was to flip him off.

“Do customized weapons turn you on?” he asked, leaning back slightly into Yuri’s touch.

“Customized, _practical_ weapons,” Yuri corrected absently. Somewhere deeper in the building, he heard a shuffle, like a foot over a patch of broken drywall dust. He dropped his hand and gave a little more distance between them. “I like a man who knows what he’s doing and how he wants to do it. They’re getting closer.”

Otabek released a shaky breath. “I designed the garrote myself,” he blurted out.

Yuri’s cock once again leapt to attention. “Really?”

He nodded, but his gaze was fixed on the building. “And back in Almaty I have my own forge so I can make custom blades.”

That was it. A man could only take so much torture. “This had better become the fastest kill you’ve ever had,” Yuri growled, “because if I’m not naked and slammed up against a wall in a minute or less, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Otabek’s smirk was all dark promise and Yuri was about to fling himself toward the man when a shadow moved in the building.

“There,” Otabek murmured.

“Saw it,” Yuri agreed.

And then another shadow moved in a different window. And another. Yuri frowned. He’d expected one vampire, maybe two, but three? … Wait, _four_?

“I’m not imagining this, am I?” Otabek asked as a sixth and seventh shadow appeared in the broken windows.

“Nope.” Yuri focused, using every heightened sense he possessed. They weren’t human, at least, not fully. He couldn’t smell or hear blood pumping through their veins. But they weren’t vampires either, because there was no sense of lingering cold.

The breeze shifted, bringing him the first true scenting of their opponents. Rotting flesh and putrid marrow. His gorge rose and he fought against his stomach’s rebellion.

“Yuri?” Otabek’s voice was controlled, but there was a wealth of concern in the simple question.

He reached out blindly, grabbing the bottom of Otabek’s jacket, and tugged. Instead of fighting, the hunter obeyed, backing away slowly while the shadows shifted and slithered and loomed closer and closer to the freedom outside the building.

“Can we beat these?” Otabek asked.

“No. Not alone.”

He watched the news sink in, watched Otabek process it and adapt in seconds. His eyes darted this way and that, even as he continued the steady retreat with Yuri. “You’re not going to like this—”

“We’re surrounded. I know.”

He did. He’d heard the movement around them the moment they’d begun to move away from the main pack. He’d also reached into his pocket already and begun texting Phichit. If they died, he needed the family to know what was happening. Not that he intended to die here. Being taken out by strigoii morti was not a death he’d wish on his worst enemy.

“So, what’s the plan?”

For a moment, he pondered whether he could actually fall for someone like Otabek, someone who kept calm enough that he could make surviving an attack like this sound as mundane as planning where to eat lunch the next day. If they weren’t facing almost certain death, he might have spent more time on that puzzle. Fortunately, there were bigger issues to deal with.

“We need to survive until sunrise,” Yuri told him, slipping his phone away and turning so they were back to back. He wanted to keep an eye on the group moving in steadily behind them. “Easiest way is finding a place to lock ourselves in. I won’t lead them back home.” He’d die before he left a trail for these undead bastards to find their way back to his family.

“Agreed. What’s nearby?”

“Depends on how fast you can run.”

A shadow to Yuri’s left feinted and snuck closer, almost to the edge of the building’s shadow. He flashes his fangs at it and snarled in warning, earning him a small measure of space when the creature retreated further into the darkness.

Otabek’s shoulders pressed against his and he felt the hunter tensing at whatever he saw. “Any hotels? They might lose our scent between the people and the cleanings.”

Yuri wracked his brain, trying to remember their route and how far they were from his normal hunting grounds. “I know one. Lots of changeover there, too.”

“Good. So how do we do this?”

“I’m going to do something really, _really_ stupid and when they go after me, you’re going to run to your left. Keep running until you see a cross street called Calle Roja. Turn right. Hotel’s on the left. Lots of neon. You won’t be able to miss it.”

“What are you going to do—?”

But Yuri had already stepped forward away from Otabek, pulled back his hood, and begun yelling at the top of his lungs, “Okay, asshole, show your fucking face!”

Probably not his smartest move, but it did what he’d hoped it would. The strigoii went still and the eerie silence that fell was proof enough their master was lurking just out of sight somewhere. If he and Otabek had any hope of surviving, of preventing another mass casualty like that strigoii attack in Brazil a few years ago, they needed to know who had created these monsters. Yuri took another step away from Otabek. The strigoii remained where they were, their only movements the turning of their heads to follow Yuri’s progress.

“You think I can’t figure out where you’re hiding?” he called out. “I’m the fucking Ice Tiger of Russia! I can smell you.”

A sudden hiss, one that sent goosebumps breaking out over Yuri’s entire body. The strigoii stared at him, their flat lips twisted, their teeth bared, that horrible, rasping sound continuing to escape them despite the fact that they didn’t need to breathe. He continued to walk back toward the original building, skin prickling as the creatures began to close on him. He had counted at least six behind him and there were ten or more still hiding in the building. They weren’t fast, but if they caught him …

He forced himself to laugh. It echoed off the buildings around them, a rough, disused sound, and he lied, with all the arrogance he could muster, “I knew you were a coward, but unwilling to even show me your face … Pathetic.”

There. On the roof of the building, a tiny movement. Yuri looked up, desperate to catch any glimpse he could before the attack came. Tall, athletic. A furious purple glare … And the strigoii rushed him.

He didn’t waste his breath shouting at Otabek to run. There wasn’t time. The first monster was on him in a flash, flinging itself toward his unprotected side. Its gray skin slid under his hands as he tried to wrench free, the decay leaving a thin layer of slime gushing up where the fragile layer ripped and split like wet tissue paper. The strigoii was beyond pain, beyond thought. It was hunger incarnate. Its teeth snapped and gnashed and, with a yell, Yuri shifted his balance and managed to throw it away from him. It hit the ground with a wheeze and two more surged forward to take its place.

Gaping mouths and grasping hands and sightless eyes covered in the pale film of death. Yuri ripped and tore his way from their clutches, kicking and swinging and dancing out of reach as more and more ran from the shadows towards a potential meal. He fell once, a jarring, terrifying experience when he ran backwards into a hole in the road. For a moment, lying there, staring up at the nearest monster who lunged at him with yawning maw, he wondered if his grandpa had been this afraid at the end. Before that thought could take root though, something flashed through the air. The knife buried itself in the strigoii’s forehead and it collapsed in a twitching pile. A hand gripped the back of Yuri’s hoodie and yanked and he was upright and running and—

And Otabek was right there beside him, clinging to his hand like he’d never let go, and Yuri laughed in shock and wonder. He didn’t care about the cry of rage from behind them, or the pounding of rotting feet chasing them, or the fact that they still may not make it to safety.

The hunter hadn’t abandoned him.

_Otabek_ hadn’t abandoned him.

Turns out, Otabek could run fast. He could run far. Yuri was kind of impressed with his stamina. Neither bothered to look back; if they were going to get caught, it wouldn’t help to see it coming. Instead, they fled over crappy pavement out of a forgotten section of town. Yuri saw the cross street coming and had already begun to cut toward it, dragging Otabek along. At this painfully early hour of the morning, nothing stirred. He kept an ear out for their pursuers, but they must have gained enough distance. All he could hear was his and Otabek’s panting and the jagged pulse of Otabek’s heart and the soft fizzle of neon lights from their salvation ahead.

“There,” Yuri announced, pointing with his free hand to the hotel. To his credit, Otabek didn’t argue.

Love Nest was an ancient establishment in what had once been the town’s red light district. The original building had burned down during one of the uprisings against the Spanish forces, but an enterprising whore had rebuilt it and continued its legacy. Now, a few hundred years later, the adobe was as fake as the plants in front of the office, but the hourly rate for rooms was moderately cheap and Yuri knew the vampire and her partner who ran the place. Discretion was _always_ guaranteed.

He was still panting when they hurried inside the office. “Dark room,” he told the speaker in the blacked-out booth.

“How long?” a voice asked.

Otabek shifted behind him and murmured quietly, “Sunrise in just over an hour.”

_Shit_. He could always call Phichit or Minami for a pick-up, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to risk Otabek meeting them. Besides, they had to pretend to be there to lead the strigoii of the scent …

“Full day,” he said, wincing at the knowledge of its expense.

“How do you want to pay?”

Otabek reached for his wallet, but Yuri put a hand on his wrist, stalling his efforts. “Blood tithe.”

A moment of silence, then the revolving drawer clicked. Yuri pulled out the contract, rapidly filled out his information, and glanced over to Otabek. “You may not want to see this,” he said.

The hunter’s shoulders tensed, but he only crossed his arms and waited. Yuri made a face, but nipped his thumb with a fang, squeezing until a large drop of blood welled up. He pressed it to the paper and slid the now signed contract back in the drawer. Another moment, another click. “Room three,” the disembodied voice informed him.

He grabbed the key from the drawer and moved away from the front door toward the back. Otabek followed, confusion evident on his face. They turned the corner and faced a massive steel door. Yuri pressed the doorbell-sized button on the nearby wall. A second later, there was an answering buzz and the door’s locks disengaged. He pulled it open, ushered Otabek through, and closed it firmly behind him.

“Impressive security,” Otabek said quietly as they hurried down the sealed hallway. Yuri didn’t expect to run into anyone he knew, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance on it.

“It’ll keep us alive.” Yuri found room three without a problem, inserted his key, and let them inside.

He flicked on the light, despite knowing exactly what he’d see. For all the tawdry decoration outside, the vampire wing’s rooms were actually somewhat classy. Completely sealed and windowless to prevent exposure to sunlight. Tiled floors with disposable area rugs. Dark sheets on the bed. A decent sized bathroom. Yuri knew Otabek was taking in all the details as he locked the door. Once he felt secure with their safety, he heaved a sigh of relief and headed into the main room. Otabek stood near the mini-fridge, inspecting the basket of toiletries included as part of the room fee without question.

“So,” he started slowly, “this is a vampire … sex … hotel?”

Yuri shrugged and tossed the key on the bedside table. “Close enough. Caters to both species though.”

Otabek stretched out a finger and rifled through the basket. Yuri knew what he’d find. Condoms. Lube. Razor blades. Emergency suture and staple kits. QuikClot. If he were brave enough to open the fridge, he’d find a variety of blood set up in mini-bar style. None of that seemed odd to Yuri.

No, the strange thing was how shy Yuri felt bringing Otabek here. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice; he still needed to find Georgi and he wouldn’t let his best shot at that die so easily, especially not when the promise of some enjoyable sex was a nice bonus. But for the first time, he wondered what vampirism must look to someone who lived outside that world. Especially someone who had been trained to view it as evil.

Whatever thoughts Otabek had on the complimentary supplies, he kept them to himself. He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair, and sat down to take off his boots. Yuri, at a loss for something to do, sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. After a silent inner debate, he also pulled off his hoodie. They sat there, mostly dressed, watching each other with newfound wariness.

Otabek made a soft noise and rested his elbows on the chair arms, lifting his linked fingers to rest against his mouth, hiding half his expression from Yuri. “What’s a blood tithe?” he asked without warning.

“A vampire’s version of an IOU.”

“That couldn’t have been cheap.”

He didn’t bother lying. “It’s not.”

“Then why do it?”

The flush that crawled into his cheeks was horrifying. He didn’t expect it, didn’t know how to react to it. He ducked his head, praying his hair would help him hide. “We had a deal.”

“The deal didn’t extend to you putting your life at risk to save mine. You didn’t have to plan our escape. We could have split up and gone our separate ways. If we both survived, so would the deal.”

“Have you ever fought strigoii morti?”

Silence from the chair. Eventually, Otabek admitted, “Once. Before I knew what they were.”

“How many?” He refused to wither under the hunter’s scowl.

“One.”

“If you knew what an entire pack can do to a victim, you wouldn’t have run away either.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me.”

“Is that what you’re pissed off about? You didn’t get the chance to play the hero?”

Otabek narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Then why are you freaking out about it? We escaped. We’re alive. Let’s focus on that.”

“No. I need to know why you’re doing this.”

Yuri frowned and flopped back on the bed. The ceiling overhead had a series of decorative mirrors in place, which would have been perfect if they were having sex. Too bad they weren’t. Instead, the mirrors captured Yuri’s frustration at fighting over something so stupid. “Because I’m not an utter bastard.”

“I know plenty of hunters who would have left me to save their own skin.”

“And I’m just a vampire, so why did I show greater moral fiber than them? For fuck’s sake, Altin, why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know if …” He trailed off. When he cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice was husky. “Did you do it because you care about me?”

Yuri groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. His cheeks were on fire. “Oh, my God, why are we having this conversation?”

“Answer the damn question, Yuri.”

The sound of his name from those lips, even in a fit of pique, reached something deep inside him. It was like hearing a bell give a sweet, mellow toll, letting the reverberations settle into his bones. Worse, it coaxed him to be honest.

“Yes, okay? I saved your ass because I’m selfish and didn’t want you to die before proving yourself as shitty as every other hunter in history. Take away my soulless bloodsucker card and pillory me before the town.”

He could barely breathe from how tight his chest was. Admitting it out loud, especially with how ridiculous his reasons were, made him wish for a nearby window. At least he could fling the curtains open, flambe himself in the sun, and end this humiliation. A squeak from the chair. He didn’t move his arm. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Otabek’s face, the disgust he was sure would be there. Casual hate sex was one thing. Sex based on … mild indifference was something entirely different.

Even when the mattress dipped, he didn’t move his arm. Otabek’s knee settled beside his thigh. A hand by his head. If he turned that way, he’d be able to press his lips against Otabek’s forearm, feel the blood moving below his skin.

“Yuri, look at me.”

“No,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.

A huff of laughter and Otabek prised his arm away. “Yuri,” he said again. His lips ghosted over the skin of Yuri’s neck. Yuri shivered against his will.

“Yuri.”

A gentle nip to his collarbone, one that made him arch up in surprise. His hips ground against Otabek’s before he settled back down.

“Yuri, stop being stubborn.”

The way the man said his name … He whimpered, bit his lower lip, and stilled himself. A thumb following the curve of his jaw, brushing over his mouth, teasing his lower lip out from his fangs. Yuri’s breath caught and, hating himself, he opened his eyes.

Otabek loomed over him, expression caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. Of course, his quietude set Yuri off again.

“I’m looking,” he snapped.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Well, if that didn’t dry up any taunt he’d been thinking of flinging at the man. He blinked, amazed when Otabek’s expression changed ever so slightly, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Umm … you’re welcome.”

At least, he tried to say that. He got as far as _you_ , the rest cut off when Otabek’s mouth met his with bruising force. The kiss was like a shovel to the back of the head. He moaned and gave in, letting Otabek take anything and everything he wanted. The man claimed his mouth with ruthless efficiency, tongue sweeping in to taste every inch, teeth nipping at his lip. Yuri didn’t realize Otabek had drawn away, too busy panting and trying to sort his thoughts, until the man’s lips brushed his ear.

“You got us the room for a full day. Seems a shame to waste it.”

Then a small, cool bottle was pressed into his hand, and Otabek’s weight vanished, along with Yuri’s pants, and he barely had time to look up before he saw a dark head near his hip and then a teasing breath against his cock and—

He stopped thinking.


	7. Come What May

The groan that ripped itself from Yuri’s chest when Otabek took his cock in his mouth was exactly what he needed. Too much had happened. He was done thinking. He was done talking. Life outside their room was complicated, and this, this wasn’t. This was blessedly simple.

He tasted of salt and the slightly bitter tang of pre-come and Otabek smiled when Yuri’s thighs twitched. Instead of thrusting up, the man tried to retreat, pulling his hips down toward the mattress. Intrigued, Otabek let Yuri draw away, sliding his tongue along the shaft until he felt the crown. A single flick up and over the slit and the vampire froze. Otabek seized the opportunity and took Yuri deeper, proud of the strangled whimper he heard. But it wasn’t long before that vulnerability vanished again. The moment Yuri started to show his need, some physical civil war raged and he’d retreat, hiding behind the arm over his eyes, the sheen of sweat covering his flawless pale skin. They battled back and forth, Otabek coaxing sighs and tiny flexes from Yuri as he tried to tamp down on every reaction. And, suddenly, it wasn’t enough.

Otabek climbed off the bed and finished stripping, never taking his eyes off the man lying before him. “Sit up,” he ordered harshly, jaw sore and cock aching from his own battle for control.

Yuri tried, but he shook too badly to hold himself up long enough to untangle himself from his tight T-shirt. Otabek helped, peeling it off him and tossing it aside. Freed, Yuri collapsed back on the bed. His chest heaved and he stared up at the mirrored ceiling, although Otabek doubted he actually saw anything. His expression was that of a man on the brink, lost so deeply in his own thoughts that nothing could touch him.

Otabek intended for that facade crumble.

It was only fair. Yuri’s embarrassed admission—that he had saved Otabek from certain death because he _cared_ about the hunter—had destroyed the carefully erected walls Otabek spent years building. Lessons and lectures shot around his mind like shrapnel. Vampires don’t value life. Vampires view humans like cattle. Vampires are self-serving. Vampires will kill you the moment you’re disarmed.

Yuri forced him to retreat from an impossible battle. Yuri spoke of humans with bemused fondness. Yuri brought him _here_ rather than lead the strigoii back to those they cared about. Yuri lay there like a sacrifice, cheeks flushed, lips parted, fangs extended, staring into nothingness. If Otabek wanted, he could drive a stake through Yuri’s heart and watch the life burn out of those emerald eyes. He could end this, do his duty.

Instead, he took the bottle of lube from those delicate fingers and waited. “Can I—?”

Yuri didn’t speak. He simply shifted on the bed, spreading his legs wider.

That wasn’t enough. Otabek wanted utter consent. He would accept nothing less. “Yuri?”

The vampire closed his eyes and shivered, a long, loose movement that rustled the sheets. When he opened his eyes again, that distance was gone, his gaze clear, and Otabek couldn’t help but reach out and skim his fingers down Yuri’s chest to his stomach, inordinately pleased he’d chosen to come back and be present.

“Please,” the vampire whispered.

Still not enough. He flicked open the cap of the lube and drizzled some onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the liquid. “I want to hear it.”

Every small step forward was a battle of attrition. Yuri swallowed, levered himself up on his elbows, and watched Otabek. He said nothing, simply waited. His desires were clear enough, especially naked like this, but he could wait. He was patient.

“Please,” Yuri tried again. “I want you to …” A tiny grimace, as if it pained him to say the words aloud. Maybe Otabek wasn’t the only one who wanted to escape the lessons of his past. He must have crossed some mental line, because he tilted his chin up and threw Otabek a look of utter challenge. “Fuck me.”

Words weren’t necessary. He kissed Yuri instead, marveling when the man opened to him, all earlier tension gone. Once Yuri was pliant under him, Otabek moved to sit up on the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and crooked a slick finger. “Come here.”

The vampire rolled to his stomach and pushed up, the long muscles of his back flexing in a way that made Otabek’s mouth water. He crawled closer, humming a little when Otabek pulled him closer, settling him in his lap. Their cocks brushed and they both hissed, Yuri tilting his head back and exposing the line of his neck. He had no idea why, but he tangled his fingers in that fine, blond hair and dragged Yuri’s mouth back to his for a brutal kiss even as he pressed a finger inside.

It was a shock when Yuri gave a single, violent shudder. He barely released the vampire’s hair fast enough to clamp down around the base of his cock, squeezing to stop the orgasm. “Fuck,” he whispered, awed at the sight of Yuri trapped there, body curved away from and into Otabek’s touch at the same time. He could come from this, from watching Yuri’s fight for control, from knowing that he was already on a hair trigger.

“More,” Yuri begged.

It took a little work to add the second finger. Yuri’s body didn’t resist the invasion, but he was so close that it would take some sincere coaxing to make those muscles ease. Otabek pressed kisses to his mouth, his face, his neck, his collarbone, twisting and scissoring his fingers and fighting the urge to cant his hips up and rut against Yuri like some kind of animal.

Maybe that’s why the Brotherhood forbade this. Maybe they knew this kind of need could reduce a man to his lowest form. Maybe they knew this would strip him of the very humanity he was tasked to protect.

Yuri buried his face against Otabek’s hair, whispering _please_ over and over on every exhalation. He wanted to draw this out, but Yuri’s desperation lit a fire under his skin and he pulled his mouth away from soft skin only long enough to ask, “Condom?”

Yuri’s fangs flashed and for a split second, fear spiked in his veins. But the vampire threw his head back, snapping at the empty air instead, removing the threat before Otabek had to make a decision. His knees pressed hard against Otabek’s hips and he snarled, “No. Clean.”

Yuri reached down and gripped his erection and he trusted that adamantine resolve. He focused on breathing instead of coming like a teenager at the firm touch of those strong hands. Yuri grabbed the lube and coated Otabek’s cock. He was still stroking, making Otabek’s hips snap with each torturous press down the shaft, when he leaned close and demanded, “ _Now_.”

Otabek barely withdrew his fingers before Yuri was steadying his cock and sinking down on him. The world shattered and it was all Otabek could do to cling desperately to Yuri’s hips and moan as that tight heat enveloped him. The blond gave a ragged laugh when Otabek bottomed out.

“What?” He was amazed he could form a coherent word.

“So good,” Yuri murmured. He did something with his hips, something that brought his chest and neck closer to Otabek’s face, something that made stars appear in the edges of his vision. His fingers dug into Otabek’s shoulders and he did it again, making them both gasp.

It was torture, divine torture. Otabek balanced on the edge of release, teetering with every sloppy kiss, every desperate noise Yuri made as he ground down. The closer he got, the more Yuri curved his neck, exposing the pale length toward Otabek without thought. The dark, predatory part of him wanted to mark the skin, bruise it and leave that claim staked in flesh, even if Yuri would heal too fast for anyone else to ever see it. But that wasn’t his right and it didn’t make any fucking sense. So he gritted his teeth and focused on all the other sensations running rampant through him. Just when he thought he’d never survive, Yuri’s body went taut. He threw an arm around Yuri’s back, clutching him tightly, and thrust up with what limited force he could. Yuri cried out as he came, spilling against Otabek’s stomach and chest, spurring Otabek to one final thrust and an orgasm so violent it left him light-headed. They came down from the high in a tangled pile of limbs, breathing too hard and pressing sweaty bodies together, unwilling to let the other go.

Only when he was too soft and slipped out—Yuri made a delicious whine of unhappiness at that—did Otabek rouse himself. He gently pushed Yuri away and rose, knees still weak, to head toward the bathroom. He closed the door and cleaned up. The face staring back at him in the mirror didn’t look any different. His body didn’t feel that much different. He lied and pretended his heart hadn’t changed either.

Otabek, warm washcloth in hand, returned to find Yuri lying ass up on the bed. He gave a sleepy blink when Otabek began cleaning him and tried to take over.

“I’ve got it,” Otabek said. “Do you need anything?”

“Phone. Should tell them I’m alive.”

He found Yuri’s pants and dug out his phone, tossing it to him. “Who’s they?”

“Family.” The Russian swore under his breath at whatever he saw on the screen, a graceful litany of curses Otabek chuckled at, and flipped over with a grunt so he could text easier.

He paused the hunt for his own phone long enough to admire the long, lean body he’d just enjoyed. He must have stared too long though, since Yuri cleared his throat. Otabek’s gaze flicked back up and he found himself returning Yuri’s curious look.

“You remind me of a statue. The proportions, the shadows. It’s hard to look at you sometimes,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. Yuri’s cheeks went pink and he licked his lower lip, which did nothing but encourage Otabek’s idiocy. With horror, he realized he was still talking. “They warned us about vampires like you.”

That surprised a delighted peal of laughter from Yuri. “You make me sound like a capitalist whore.”

“You make it difficult …”

_That_ the vampire seemed to understand. “You’re no better.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly, inexplicably, exhausted. “I can’t like you.”

Yuri flushed, but the ducking of his face meant this was embarrassment, not desire. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I wish I could.”

The words hung there between them in that weighted air. Yuri stared from his spot on the bed. Otabek was about to apologize, to backtrack, to ask how the hell to get out of here because facing the damn strigoii would be easier, when the blond said in the quietest voice Otabek had ever heard, “Someday.”

The word rasped in his throat, hurt on its way out, but in this silent, safe oasis he could offer it. “Someday.”

With that admission, he contemplated retreating back to the chair, but Yuri had sat up and gestured him back to the bed. He had a few more hours to be selfish. Otabek obeyed. Once he lay down, Yuri tucked his phone up by the pillow and rolled so they could face each other. It was a different kind of need now, earnest and amusingly innocent, nothing but soft, tentative touches of each other’s skin. Otabek found himself relaxing, content to watch the fluid cascade of Yuri’s hair falling as he played with it.

“I didn’t know it could be like this.” He dug his fingernails into his palm in a far too late attempt to shut up. The pain helped a little, distracted him before he could say something even stupider.

“No,” Yuri agreed.

Neither said the harsh truth that lingered on the edges of this happiness. Sacrifice was part of both their worlds and they wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

He must have fallen asleep because when he came to, Yuri was back on his phone, frowning a little.

“What time is it?” Otabek asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Almost nine. Sun’s been up for a few hours, so you’re probably safe to get out of here.”

“Do you want me to go?” The answer shouldn’t have mattered.

Yuri scowled. “Of course not. But I don’t know how the hell you’re going to explain this to your little lion and his ilk.”

Otabek shrugged. “Strigoii morti are a pretty decent excuse to hole up for a while. I can explain it away. No one will question me.”

“Yeah, well, if they do, don’t lead your asshole bosses back here. Yuuko doesn’t deserve that.”

“I won’t.” He reached out and ran a hand down Yuri’s side, following the line of his ribs, his stomach, the subtle flare of his hip. “Will you stay here when I leave?”

Yuri nodded, tossing his phone to the bedside table, and focusing completely on Otabek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get out before they start sniffing around. I’ll talk to my family, see what we can do to help you.”

“You’d do that?”

“Strigoii are a threat to everything. _We_ wouldn’t mind.”

His implication was clear. Otabek drew him close, kissed him with leisurely intent that became something more without thought. When they broke apart, breathless, bodies pressed tightly together, Otabek said, “ _I_ don’t mind.”

Yuri purred and stretched against him, using the motion to roll on top of Otabek, pinning him to the bed. “Good.” He reached out and snagged the bottle of lube from the nightstand, dangling it teasingly. “Since you’re already late getting back …”

“Yes,” he breathed, longing to hold to that simplicity just a little longer. Maybe it would give him the strength to survive the complications that he’d face when he walked away.


	8. Back to Black

He ended leaving around lunch, when his stomach was growling so loudly Yuri couldn’t keep blowing him because he was laughing too hard. It took a while to make it out of the hotel; since it was daylight hours, there were more safeguards in place to ensure the wing their room was in stayed safely dark. Outside, there was no sign of the strigoii, but Otabek knew better than to take any chances. He hopped onto the first bus he could find, transferred to a different line, took a taxi, got dropped at the beach, splashed along the boardwalk for a while, and eventually took a different taxi that dumped him outside Leo’s apartment complex.

He’d barely gotten in a single knock when the door of the apartment swung open. Leo gaped at him.

“Hey,” Otabek offered.

He wasn’t expecting Leo’s punch to his shoulder, but he couldn’t blame the guy.

“Where the fuck were you, Altin? You didn’t come home last night and the Brotherhood wants you to call in. I tried your phone, but it was off—”

“The patrol got a little rough,” he said, sneaking past the angry American into the living room, where he dumped his jacket over the back of the couch. “Sorry I worried you.”

“Seriously, not being at a hundred percent sucks,” Leo griped. He plunked himself down on the opposite end of the couch and glared at Otabek. “I didn’t know if you needed back up or what.”

“I’ll explain what I can if they give me permission. Mind if I use your room?”

That caught Leo’s interest. In the short time they’d been working together, Otabek had made sure to be open in front of him, letting him see the responsibilities associated with being one of the Brotherhood’s top hunters. He knew that his secrecy was suspicious. But he had more to protect now than himself.

“Go for it.”

Leo’s bedroom in the back of the apartment was surprisingly homey. Otabek smiled to himself and shook his head. This proved how green his partner was. The experienced hunters didn’t set down roots. It was too difficult to pack up and move when those ties existed. He dug his work cell out of his jacket and turned it on. He felt a little bad lying to Leo; he _had_ seen the missed calls, but hadn’t cared enough to call back. He’d been too distracted by a willing body and overwhelming lust. It didn’t take much to find the number he needed. He dialed his handler, pacing the narrow strip of aged carpet at the foot of the bed while he tried to collect his thoughts.

“Brother Altin. You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

As he’d hoped, he wasn’t questioned for breaking protocol. There were some benefits to having earned the trust of his superiors. “We received an anonymous tip about the attack at the blood bank.”

“Oh?”

“Have you seen any evidence of a nest being established there?”

_Shit, shit, shit_. He had to answer honestly. He could do that. Offer facts, not conjectures even the newest Brother would have pieced together. “No, sir. But I’m aware of increased activity in the area.”

“We have strong reason to believe that Yakov Feltsman and his followers have fled to Brother de la Iglesia’s area to establish a new nest.”

Otabek’s grip on his phone wavered as the nausea set in. Yakov Feltsman was from one of Russia’s oldest and most respected bloodlines. Before the Brotherhood’s battle against Feltsman in Moscow—the battle where they’d captured, and subsequently lost, Victor Nikiforov and Brother Katsuki—vamps from around the world flocked to Russia in the hopes of catching his eye, being asked to train and hone their skills with him. And one of those vamps was a young, bloodthirsty blond. A blond who had propositioned Otabek in a club the same night the blood bank was ransacked. He should have known better …

“Sir,” Otabek asked, hoping his voice didn’t tremble as he feared it would, “do we have proof that Feltsman’s nest is responsible?”

Silence from the other end of the line. Then, a frustrated, “No.”

The vise around Otabek’s lungs loosened slightly. The sick feeling didn’t abate though.

“But we can’t risk such a powerful enemy establishing new territory. More Brothers will be arriving in your area in the next few days.”

His mind whirled. “Understood, sir. I have additional news that is of highest importance. During my patrol last night I came across a group of strigoii morti.”

Again, he’d stunned his handler into silence. He couldn’t remember ever having done that before, except that night in Moscow. That had been a cluster. Reporting the losses taken to capture Nikiforov, hours later, reporting Nikiforov’s escape and the treason of Brother Katsuki. God, he hated that night.

“Brother Altin, are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. I evaded them and ensured my trail was lost before returning home. That’s why I couldn’t report in sooner.” He waited for the questioning, for the distrust. He waited to be caught. To admit that he’d spent hours luxuriating in the sensual pleasures of Yuri’s body before he’d finally left the hotel. He waited for absolution.

It didn’t come. Instead, all he got was a sigh of relief. “Well done. Feltsman’s nest isn’t known to associate with strigoii.”

_Obviously. Yuri said they_ _’d never tolerate them in their territory._ Otabek caught sight of his face in the mirror, startled to realize he was sneering. He forced the expression down, schooling his features back to appropriate indifference even though his handler couldn’t see him. “Sir, I’d like to focus my efforts on the strigoii for the time being. The pleasure kills are still a priority, but until the strigoii are handled, I think it would be best to assign that case to Brother de la Iglesia and a partner.”

“We agree. Brother Ji will be tasked to that mission. You’ll be working alone until Brother Nekola arrives. Your mission is to determine the vampire responsible for the strigoii’s appearance, learn what you can about the vampire’s associates, and kill the demon. We expect minimal collateral damage from you, Brother Altin.”

“Understood, sir.”

Only when the line went dead did Otabek allow himself to suck in a deep breath and give in to the adrenaline surge. His body began trembling, shaking, and he could do nothing but wait it out. He’d nearly made it when his other phone—Yuri’s phone—dinged in his pocket. He pulled it out, not terribly surprised to see a message waiting.

“Make it back?”

“Still alive,” he typed out. And then, because he was stressed and already knew the answer and was looking to pick a fight, he added, “You knew about the blood bank before you found me that night?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure if the complete lack of hesitation made it better or worse. “We have to eat. Better than hunting on the streets.”

Otabek ran a hand through his hair. How fucked up had his life become when Yuri’s excuse actually sounded valid?

The phone dinged again. “I didn’t mean for you to catch shit for it.” Dots. “Just wanted to get away for the night.” Dots. The messages started coming faster though, not giving Otabek a moment’s break to gather his scattered thoughts. “Saw you. Wanted to talk to you. Wanted to dance with you. Wanted to fuck you. Did.”

Otabek rallied what little bitterness he could. “In more ways than one.”

“Can I make this better?”

Part of Otabek wanted to accept that olive branch. But, he was still reeling from the phone call, from how close he’d come to lying to his superiors, from the reminder that Yuri was _using_ him. It didn’t matter how much Yuri’s presence filled an ache Otabek didn’t know had existed until that night a lazy fang pierced his flesh. Yuri was a vampire, his sworn enemy, and in the end, he’d have to do his duty. His Brothers were coming. The risks were too great. It was better to end it now, for both their sakes. It was better to have the memory of that night than to continue this path to madness.

Carefully, deliberately, he typed, “No.”

Dots. Then nothing. Dots again.

He wasn’t so heartless as to not type a final message. “Reinforcements coming. Don’t contact again.”

Turning off the phone was harder than he expected. Destroying it as he should was fucking impossible. He ended up tucking it back in his pocket, unwilling to leave it anywhere someone else could discover it. It didn’t mean he was clinging to some foolish hope. No, it was a talisman. A reminder of the path he’d strayed from and why he would never stray again. Yes, that’s what it was.

It was a good lie, even if he didn’t believe it. It would have to be enough.

 

*****

 

The pig knew the moment he walked through the door that night. Yuuri looked up from the salve he was assembling with unnerving timing. His dark eyes narrowed and he rose from his seat at the table. “ _Tora_ , what’s wrong?”

“Where’s Yakov?” He sounded too monotone. He needed to pull himself together. “I have news.”

“We’ve been worried about you,” Yuuri continued. “Did the strigoii come after you again? Are you okay?”

They were close enough to touch now, the downside of the narrow spaces of the bunker. Which meant that they were close enough for Yuuri to catch the scent clinging to Yuri’s body and clothes. The concern vanished, replaced with understanding. “Oh, Yuri …”

“Shut up, asshole. I don’t want to hear it from you.” His hand, buried in his pocket, clenched around his phone. The fucking messages were burned into his brain. Especially the last one.

_Don_ _’t contact again_.

Too bad his mentor’s mate had already crossed the distance between them and wrapped him in a tight hug. Yuri stiffened, determined not to accept the comfort. But Yuuri was quiet and safe and strong and _understood_. Soon, his eyes were burning. Then prickling. Then filling with moisture until the world around his rippled and grew fuzzy. And, to his eternal mortification, he buried his face against Yuuri’s and began crying. Like a fucking sap. Like a weakling.

“I … I thought that we could …” He growled and ground his teeth together, fighting down the sob that rose. “You and Victor …”

Yuuri squeezed tighter and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I know. Just … please tell me you didn’t drink from him.”

The question was so unexpected, so intimate, so inappropriate that he bared his fangs. “Of course not.”

He must have been losing his edge. Yuuri didn’t even back away. Instead, he ran a soothing hand through Yuri’s hair. “Good. It would be much harder if you had.”

“You think I don’t know that already, pig?” His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned deeper into Yuuri’s touch. The tension began to leach from his muscles, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to experience what was waiting behind that frustration and shock. “It was _so_ fucking good.” More tears? How much freaking fluid could he possibly have in his body? He drew back and wiped at his eyes furiously with the heel of his palm. “It was _better_ than what you two bastards have. And I thought he’d understand—”

“Yuri.” The tone in the older vampire’s voice forced Yuri to look at him. Nothing but determination in the gaze that held his. “Listen to me closely. You’re standing here right now. You’re _alive_. No matter how much it hurts, and believe me, it will continue to _hurt_ , he walked away without leaving a corpse in his wake. He understood more than you think.”

“Fuck.”

“Amen to that.”

He let Yuuri continue to hold him while he pulled himself back together. Really, it was stupid to be falling apart over this. Altin was nothing but a hunter, an easy lay he could use for information and help. He wasn’t mourning the loss of the man. He was upset because he hadn’t saved Georgi yet. Because he hadn’t used the Brotherhood to eliminate the strigoii and lower their own ranks in the process.

Speaking of which …

“Seriously, where’s Yakov? I’ve got news.”

“About what?” Victor emerged from one of the halls. He raised a perfectly arched silver brow at the scene, but didn’t freak out. He and Yuuri had hard limits in their relationship, but those were related to sharing blood with others, not so much about physical contact. Victor was cloyingly affectionate and once Yuuri had figured out that the idiot wasn’t going anywhere, he’d also grown more effusive.

Yuri groaned in mock distress when Victor joined them, wrapping himself around Yuri from behind, forming some bizarre vampire sandwich.

“Get off me, old man,” Yuri complained.

“You look like you need a hug.” Victor shifted, peeking around Yuri’s head to check with his mate. “Why does he need a hug?”

“Altin broke things off,” Yuri muttered. He should have been pissed when the arms around him tightened and bodies pressed even closer. Instead, he welcomed it, even when Victor nuzzled against the base of his skull and hummed in commiseration.

“Do you want to stay with us tonight?” Victor asked quietly.  At his front, Yuuri nodded in agreement.

Part of him was tempted. They’d help him forget everything and there was the guarantee that it wouldn’t be awkward in the morning. Still, the idea of erasing Otabek’s presence on his body was … upsetting. “No. I’ll be fine.” He swallowed hard. “Thanks though.”

“In that case,” Victor said, “what’s this news you have for Yakov?”

“I think I know who’s making the strigoii.”

“Oh?”

“Do we have absolute proof that Michele Crispino is dead?”

Pressed this close together, he could feel the tremor of shock that ran through Victor and Yuuri. He understood. He’d thought he was crazy. But once Otabek left the hotel and he was left with several free hours to run through every detail of the fight, he’d had the gut-sinking realization that, no matter how improbable, it was likely the best answer.

“I managed to spook whoever was controlling them,” Yuri continued. “I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I saw enough. He had Sara’s eyes.”

The silence that pressed down on the room was rife with unhealed wounds. When Sara had fled her brother to join Milla in Russia, they’d never imagined he would chase after her. They’d never imagined he strike a deal with their worst enemies. They’d never imagined he’d lead the Brotherhood straight to their doorstep. Victor frowned against him and he reached back to rub a soothing hand over the back of the man’s neck. Victor was the one who had finally taken down Michele. It had granted the rest of the nest enough time to escape, but was the reason Victor had been captured by the Brotherhood in the first place.

“Honestly, I didn’t get a chance to check,” Victor admitted.

“I’m not sure where the Brotherhood took him,” Yuuri said. “And if he was working for them, they may not have wanted to lose a potential mole.”

“So he could be alive?”

With a sigh, Victor separated himself from them. Yuuri followed his mate’s example and headed back to the table to finish his work, his brow furrowed with worry. Victor paced the narrow room, deep in thought. “Without proof either way, we have to consider the possibility.”

“Yakov is going to be so pissed. Why did we move here, anyway?”

Yuri preened a little when his snide comment drew a snort of laughter from Yuuri. At least he didn’t look quite so worried.

“Come on,” Victor said with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go find him.”

He waited until they were out of Yuuri’s hearing to wrap an arm around Yuri’s shoulders and draw him in close. “I’m sorry about your hunter. But I’m glad you’re alive.”

“You sound just like the pig.”

Victor rolled his eyes at the nickname, but by now he knew there was no heat in it. The first few times he’d thrown that name out in conversation, Victor had nearly ripped out his throat. Now, he barely noticed. Yuri wondered if he needed to come up with a new nickname to keep them on their toes.

“Tonight, if it gets bad, find us,” Victor reminded him. “Don’t go off on your own.”

Yuri ducked his head to hide his flush. Victor knew him too well. Knew his penchant for stupid stunts when he was emotional. “No promises,” he grumbled.

“Yes. Promises. Now, Yurochka.”

“Fine. I promise.” _For tonight._

“We can’t lose you. We love you,” Victor said and Yuri’s poor bruised heart shattered the rest of the way. This day fucking sucked.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Victor held up his hands and continued down the hall toward whatever room Yakov was hiding in. Yuri trudged behind him, cheeks burning, throat tight. And when Victor was far enough ahead that he thought he may not hear it, he mumbled, “I love you idiots too.”


	9. Bloody Feet Across the Hollow Ground

Life teemed around him, people going to and from their evening’s entertainment. The city was a kaleidoscopic paradise. It held no allure for him now.

“Altin, are you okay?”

Otabek nodded, pulling himself together for appearance’s sake. “Hoping for better luck tonight.”

“If you find them, you’ll call us for back up, right?” Guang Hong Ji, the newest brother to join them, asked. “Strigoii morti aren’t something to mess around with.”

“Duly noted.” He waved a hand and headed off down the street toward the next area he wanted to search. “Good hunting.”

He ignored the concerned look Leo exchanged with Guang Hong before they murmured back, “Good hunting.” He hoped they were more successful tonight. Guang Hong was eager to help, young and blushing with the naivety of a hunter fresh out of training. He’d arrived a few days ago and Leo had set about making him at home. Three hunters in an apartment seemed overkill, so Otabek used it as an opportunity to bow out and find his own place. Apparently he’d be sticking around longer than he wanted. He’d found a cheap, vaguely hygienic place to crash. It wasn’t on the Brotherhood’s radar, a small deception he felt vaguely guilty about, but his need for quiet and privacy outweighed that consideration. To keep his handler happy and ignorant, he still met up with Leo and Guang Hong nightly to check in before they went off on patrol.

The downside of those check-ins was this. The worry. The quiet questions. Otabek was doing his damnedest to act like nothing was wrong but he knew it was a losing battle. He was short-tempered, snappish, and grew more and more frustrated every passing day that he found no new leads on the strigoii or their creator. It was like they’d vanished into thin air. How the fuck was he supposed to leave America if he couldn’t finish this one job? Maybe it was worth it to call Yuri … He’d offered to help, offered to have his _family_ help.

Except, calling Yuri meant he’d be going back on the very order he’d given the vampire. Otabek was many things, but he didn’t like how comfortable he was becoming with hypocrisy. No, calling Yuri was out of the question.

He trudged down another street, keeping an ear out as he passed the branching alleys and streets and pedestrian walkways. Four nights of useless patrols. Four nights walking alone with his thoughts. They weren’t pretty. Well, it wasn’t like he deserved any better.

He crossed into a large park that divided the kitschy, well-to-do part of town from the older neighborhoods and the start of the industrial sites. Here and there, the homeless hunkered down for the night, their lives temporarily a little easier thanks to the steady coastal temperatures and the clear summer weather. They didn’t mind his presence, some even calling out soft greetings as he walked. He’d taken care to check on them during his patrols since he arrived, aware that they were often the first to vanish when vampires were settling in.

He was on the edge of the park when a low, strangled cry split the night’s peace. There, from that convergence of utility walkways by that building. He sprinted ahead and saw a woman cowering against a wall, staring up at her attacker. Otabek didn’t yell, didn’t give any warning other than his footfalls, but the man spun to him anyway. Pale face. Dark hair. Lost eyes. And … tears?

The man took off, hurrying off down an alley, leaping a tall fence effortlessly. _Shit_. Chase after him, knowing it was probably too late, or check the victim?

Otabek came to stop beside the woman, tucking his stake away at the small of his back, and knelt. Despite the layer of grime and stench of unwashed clothes and flesh, he could see that she was shockingly young. She shook, staring after the retreating vampire.

“Miss?” Otabek asked, reaching out to clasp her shoulders. “Miss?”

A gentle shake broke her attention away from the monster and back to Otabek.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Are you bleeding?”

“N—no. He … I …” She sniffled and hugged a ragged bag closer to her chest. “Jimmy tried to steal my bag. That guy got it back for me. I thanked him, but he started crying. He looked so sad. When I tried to touch him, he pulled back and I … there couldn’t have been …” Her eyes glazed again and she looked past Otabek toward the street. “Were those fangs?” she whispered.

It was almost too much to take in. He focused on the most immediate danger. “Probably,” he told her, noting the way her eyes widened and her body stiffened with fear. “There’s one of those fake-vampire clubs a few streets over. I bet he was on his way there.”

“Oh.” But his excuse helped. The Brotherhood’s teachings still held. Tell the truth, but on a slant. Offer rational reasons to believe the alternate story. Then your hands are clean, but your target isn’t the wiser.

“Come on,” Otabek urged, helping her to her feet. “Where are you staying tonight?”

“I was going to stay in the park, but I don’t know if there’s room.”

“There’s an empty spot by the fountain. Are you new here?” She gave him a suspicious look. He understood. He wasn’t dressed like a cop, but he didn’t exactly give off the sweet missionary vibe. He held up his hands, doing his best to look harmless. “I work with one of the neighborhood watches. Since the reports of attacks, a few of us are worried that you guys may be targeted.”

“Awfully nice for a group that usually calls the cops on us.”

Otabek managed a bashful grin, hoping she wouldn’t read through it. “Not all of us are assholes.”

Her head tilted and he knew she was reconsidering him. After an awkward wait, she finally said, “I used to stay down in the old cannery on Playa Azul. A lot of us did. But when my friend Slip went missing, I didn’t want to risk sticking around.”

“Went missing?”

She nodded. “We watch each other’s backs. One night he left me to watch our shit while he went to go get us some dinner. One of the groups was doing a free barbecue and he went to get us what he could. He never came back.”

“What’s he look like? I’ll keep an eye out for him, let him know where you are if I see him.”

She shook her head, moving past him and heading toward the park. “Don’t bother. He’s not coming back.”

He wanted to ask how she knew that, but she was already crossing the street, clearly done with the conversation. Which meant he had to process everything else. She’d been helped by a vampire who matched the description of the barista’s attacker. She hadn’t been injured and the vampire had seemed distressed when she treated him well. No violence at all. Didn’t sound like someone who’d gone feral. Didn’t sound like someone who was a danger at all, actually.

“Damn it,” Otabek mumbled. He pulled out his cell and dialed Leo. When the man picked up, Otabek didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Just ran into a vamp near the park. Wasn’t violent or aggressive, but matched the description of your target.”

“Send me your location. We’ll head toward you.”

“I’m going to keep on my route. If you find him and need me, call.”

“Understood. Thanks, Altin.”

He sent his location. He didn’t know how long it would take the two of them to reach the area, so there wasn’t any real reason to wait around. He headed down the alley the vampire had fled into, glancing at the fence he’d jumped in passing. It was tall, probably twelve feet, without any easy points of access. Beyond the chain link lay a construction yard. It was going to be the expansion of one of the tech companies that had rapidly outgrown its current office space. Otabek didn’t know much about it, but Leo had said it was bringing new jobs to the area and helping gentrify this older part of the suburbs. More jobs meant more people. More people meant more vampires. Maybe that’s why Yuri and his family had come here … a new food source, a comfortable area …

_Stop thinking about him._ Every fucking second he didn’t focus on _not_ thinking about Yuri, Otabek’s mind wandered there, making connections. Maybe that’s why he thought he could hear Yuri’s voice right now …

Or maybe that’s because across the construction yard, partially hidden in a shadow, the blond was deep in conversation with another man. Before he knew what he was doing, Otabek had climbed up the fence and hopped to the other side, wincing a little when he landed. He crept closer, using the piles of materials for cover, trying to listen in. It didn’t help. He was too far away and the conversation was muffled from Yuri’s hood and the other man’s tendency to turn his head to speak directly to Yuri. He was cute, still young, with thick black hair and warm copper skin, and Otabek hated him on sight. He was too comfortable with the vampire, too easy-going, too smiley.

Worse, Yuri was just as comfortable with him. His entire body was relaxed, his stance easy, his head tilted enough that the sharp line of his chin caught what little light there was.

There wasn’t enough distance between them.

Otabek smothered a growl that threatened to escape when the cute man stepped in closer, lowering his gaze and murmuring something to Yuri as he lifted a hand towards his face. It was fine. Yuri wouldn’t allow that contact. He’d seen Yuri in the club. Yuri hated people touching him without permission. Except … except, Yuri _leaned in_ and let the man draw him closer. His heart stopped working for a moment when Yuri’s face lowered closer and he had the paralyzing fear that they were going to kiss. He couldn’t watch that. Couldn’t watch another betrayal from the Russian.

Instead, Yuri’s head continued to dip lower, past the man’s chin, slowing as he neared the neck. Deep inside, something dark and cruel and possessive reared its head and its whispered threat echoed through Otabek’s entire body. _Mine._

_*****_

Phichit’s shift was almost over, as was his final break. Yuri had finally given in to the crazy number of texts and shown up. He didn’t plan on taking much. This was less about his needs and more about letting Phichit help him. The poor bastard was worried since Yuri had spent the last few days moping around the bunker. He’d offered to empty Otabek’s bank account; Yuri refused since it would be painfully obvious to the Brotherhood and they’d track the hack. He’d offered to out Otabek to the public; again, Yuri refused. It had taken a while for him to finally figure out how to tell Phichit that he didn’t want revenge. He just wanted to put it behind him and forget how stupidly vulnerable he’d let himself become. So when Phichit became convinced that getting back to some kind of normal feeding schedule may help, Yuri had reluctantly accepted.

Maybe if he fed, the rest of them would stop nagging him. So what if he hadn’t eaten in four days? He wasn’t hungry. That’s all.

“Don’t worry,” Phichit told him, “I don’t care if you’re thinking about someone else.”

“Fuck off,” Yuri spat, but Phichit only chuckled and reached up to curve a hand along Yuri’s face.

“Listen, Yuri, we’re friends. We’re never going to be more than that. I promise that I’m not pining after you and I’m not expecting you to snap out of this like we’re in some vomitous rom com. My job is to help you stay strong and you need blood to do that. So use mine. Imagine it’s someone else if it helps you feed. But _feed_.”

Sometimes he hated his family. They knew him too well. With a sigh, he leaned into Phichit’s touch, wordlessly offering his acceptance. And, for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel as guilty when Phichit drew his face down and offered up a pulse point. With the limited time of his break and his collared shirt, the neck was the better option, especially if Yuri was careful and went low on the jugular. He leaned in, preparing to bare his fangs, when every sense screamed a warning.

He pushed Phichit hard, using that momentum to help force his own body to flip over and back. He landed in a crouch several feet away, snarling at their unexpected visitor and more than ready for a fight. Too bad it was the person he least expected to see.

Otabek stood between him and Phichit, stake in hand, face murderous. But he wasn’t looking at Yuri. The boiling hatred in his gaze was directed on Phichit, who lay in a confused sprawl. _Fuck_.

“Go,” Yuri ordered. “He’s after me.”

The taut muscles of Otabek’s arms and back shivered and, with frightening intensity, he made a slow pivot towards Yuri. The moment escape presented itself, Phichit got up and ran for it. Yuri knew he’d pull himself together and look presentable when he went back into work. Otabek was too distracted to think that Phichit might be working in the same tech company this empty work area attached to and the shift was almost over anyway. Phichit would get away clean. Yuri wasn’t sure he could say the same for himself.

“Finally decided how to deal with me?” Yuri asked. He jerked his head toward the stake. “Good to know you’ve regained your senses, Убийца.”

Otabek’s flinch at that name was bane and balm. At least it reframed their relationship— _fuck it, there was_ no _relationship_ —and meant Yuri could finally let go. This encounter was a blessing in disguise. No reason to give Otabek the upper hand though.

Yuri lunged forward, sweeping an arm toward Otabek’s neck. As he expected, the hunter raised his own arm to block, leaving his side open. Calling on the decades of intensive training Yakov had demanded, Yuri contorted mid-stride, lifting his leg high and landing a brutal kick to Otabek’s side.

The hunter’s breath left him in a pained gasp and he fell, attempting to twist so he could regain his feet. He was slow though, stunned from the pain in his ribs, and Yuri pushed his advantage, raining a flurry of kicks and punches on him. Otabek blocked as much as he could.

The game was simple. Get him to drop the stake. The stake was the clear and present danger. Drop the stake, reassess.

He managed a leg sweep and Otabek hit the ground hard. Yuri was on top of him before he could defend himself. He forced Otabek’s free arm down, clasped the other arm at the wrist so the stake couldn’t be used against him, and struck.

Tried to. His fangs were out. The intention in his mind was clear: bite his forearm, cause pain so he drops the stake. But centimeters away, the perfume of Otabek’s skin in his nose, Yuuri’s words snapped up with blinding clarity.

_Please tell me you didn’t drink from him._

Otabek’s headbutt took him by complete surprise. Sharp pain as his nose broke. His grip on Otabek’s arms loosened and he found himself flying backward. He hit the ground harder than he would have liked, the back of his head snapping into the packed dirt before rebounding up in time to see Otabek pressing his shoulders to the dirt and forcing him body up to a standing position with a strong, practiced move. Yuri went with momentum—really, what else could he do?—and managed an ungraceful backwards tumble that gave him his feet. Just in time for Otabek’s shoulder to streamroll into his sternum while his hand went back and clasped Yuri’s neck. And then they were rushing back and Yuri knew there was an empty office behind them and this was going to fucking hurt—

They crashed through the thick plastic sheets and Yuri tumbled as his foot caught a few inch rise in the concrete pad. Otabek gave a surprised grunt when Yuri grabbed his shoulders and took him down too. They fell in a heap, but Yuri got a leg around Otabek’s waist and flipped him. He slammed Otabek’s hand against the rise, desperate to nullify the stake’s threat. It worked. He had little time to celebrate. Otabek flipped him right back, and soon they were wrestling across the pad. There was no sound but their grunts and hisses of pain and the relentless sound of fists pounding against flesh.

The constant rolling and movement ended when they hit a partially completed wall. They grappled and fought for supremacy, but were too evenly matched. Their struggles finally ceased when Otabek forced Yuri’s head back with a tight-fisted grip on his hair, and Yuri had a hand dug against Otabek’s face, two fingers dangerously close to gouging out his eye. They both paused, panting, glaring at each other. A cut across Otabek’s cheek dribbled blood and Yuri fought the desire to taste him again, to indulge in his flavor beyond the cursory introduction he’d taken that first night they fought. He saw Otabek’s gaze dart to his forearm, where the line from the garotte had nearly finished healing. He saw Otabek’s regret and it infuriated him.

He dug in his fingers and Otabek yelled against the pain, instinctively ripping Yuri further away by the hair. He ended up pinned beneath the hunter, an arm across his collarbone, the man’s weight centered over his hips so he couldn’t wriggle free. He glared up into that stern face, held those eyes that had transfixed him in the hotel, and snapped, “Do it, Убийца!”

He was done fighting.

 

*****

 

Otabek reached his free hand to his ankle, drew a slim, gleaming knife from the hidden sheath, and held it above Yuri’s throat. With every blow, his rage had focused, grown hotter, swallowed him whole. Even now, with Yuri trapped beneath him— _so different from the hotel where they laughed and sighed and learned each other_ _’s body in pleasure, not brutality_ —one question consumed him.

“Do it, Убийца!”

He should. It would solve everything. This battle inside would finally stop.

But his fury was its own beast. Its obsession tumbled from his lips. “Why him?”

Yuri’s eyes widened an infinitesimal amount. His lips parted. Too beautiful. Too strong. Otabek put more weight on his bracing arm, held the knife closer, so tempted to press it to that perfect skin, to watch a red line grow, to let Yuri burn the way Otabek was burning now. “ _Why him_?”

If Yuri had looked at him with disgust, with anger, with sadistic glee, he could have been strong. But the vampire’s expression softened and his body went loose beneath Otabek’s and his head tilted back and he looked so damn close to how he’d looked lying on those rumpled sheets. “Because he doesn’t hate himself after.”

He broke. Yuri’s mouth was hot and wet and Otabek stifled a sob of relief when Yuri’s tongue tangled with his. He threw the knife away, used that hand to do what he wanted, to touch as much of Yuri’s body as he could. He closed his eyes and reveled at Yuri’s insistent fingers tangling in his hair, clawing down his back, clinging to his neck as they kissed and ran out of air. It was only when they’d fumbled their flies open, met skin to skin again, that Otabek realized he was whispering ceaselessly, his words reducing Yuri to a desperate, wrecked man. “Mine. _Mine_.”

They came in a violent rush. Yuri cried out, his fangs glinting when he gave in to that guttural surrender, and Otabek understood what he needed, finally understood why in all those moments of climax Yuri had always turned his face away from Otabek at that last second. Not this time. The memory of the other man was too close to the surface and Otabek was too damn selfish.

He was already burning. Hell held no terrors for him now.

When Yuri turned his head and tried to clamp his mouth shut, to deny that urge to bite, Otabek was there. Yuri realized it a moment too late. His fangs sank into Otabek’s wrist and it did hurt, but it also was so much _more_. It was stronger than sex, deeper, and Otabek wasn’t sure if he was coming or dying or _living_ for the first time in his life.

Yuri tried to rear back, but couldn’t with the ground beneath him. Otabek felt the blood well, watched it seep out around Yuri’s pink lips, should have worried from the drip of it along his forearm, but that wasn’t important. He couldn’t understand why the vampire wouldn’t engage. Wouldn’t feed. Otabek hated the tears that rose. Hated that Yuri would have taken from the other man, but wouldn’t share this with him.

He tried to speak. Tried to explain. The best he could manage was a broken, “Please.”

Yuri’s eyelashes fluttered and he squeezed his lids together tightly. Tears tracked down his temples into his hair. And he took a swallow. Another.

It blurred after that. Pain and pleasure and a connection that hit Otabek like someone had nailed one end of a string to something under his ribs and connected it to Yuri. There was so much to _feel_ , to process. Lust and pride and concern and regret and moments of joy sparkling like the sun over new-fallen snow and moments of pain so dark they carved out places to hide in Otabek’s soul and something else, something brilliant and warm and comforting. He wanted _that_. Wanted to know what it was. Wanted to draw it out of Yuri the same way he drew out those ragged sighs in bed. He reached for it, stretched out his hand—

The overload staved off the realization that Yuri had released him until it was too late. The blond was already sealing the punctures with a delicate lick to Otabek’s wrist when he came back from that haze. Their stomachs and shirts were sticky, the air scented with blood and sex. His hand shook when he reached to brush his fingers through Yuri’s hair, his mind at peace for the first time in years.

“Only me,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss his lover. “No one else gets that part of you.”

Yuri flung him off with such power Otabek slammed into one of the metal wall supports. White lights danced in the edges of his vision. He wheezed and grabbed helplessly at his ribs. Yuri stood, pulling his shirt away from him, hunched like _he_ was the one in pain. With horror, Otabek saw tears spilling from those emerald eyes.

“You bastard,” Yuri wept.

“Yuri—”

His pale fingers clenched the ruined fabric tighter. “You aren’t allowed to ask for that. Not you!”

“What—?”

“It goes both ways!” Yuri yelled, still crying. “I felt it _all_!” He lifted a trembling finger and pointed it accusingly at Otabek. “Shame and guilt. That’s the best you could offer me?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Otabek tried to rise, but between his body’s protests and the dizziness momentarily claiming him, he couldn’t close the distance fast enough. “Yuri, wait—”

Yuri shook his head and backed away, staring at the ground. “I deserve more.” His gaze lifted, held Otabek’s. “I deserve so much better than _you_.”

Otabek wouldn’t lie. He was tired of lying. “I know.”

And Yuri was gone, slipping off into the shadows while Otabek’s knees went out from under him. He stayed there, staring at the punctures on his wrist until they finished closing, the fresh, pink dimples vanishing like the man who’d put them there, leaving no scars but the invisible one in his heart.


	10. A Sense of Poise and Rationality

He was going to kill Phichit, Yuri decided when Victor and Yuuri found him a few blocks away, huddled in the quiet back doorstep of a restaurant long since closed for the night. “The hamster called you?” he asked them as they approached.

Victor, face impassive, nodded. Yuuri trailed a step behind him like a puppy, peeking around his shoulder to check on Yuri’s condition.

“He was worried Otabek would injure you,” Victor started, but he trailed off when he noticed that Yuri was crying. Still.

Yup, Yuri was going to kill Phichit.

Before he could threaten them away, he found himself surrounded by the mated pair. Victor sat on the dirty, greasy stoop without a thought for his designer jeans, spread his legs a little, and hauled Yuri close until they were pressed chest to back. He wrapped his arms around Yuri’s front, lightly enough that Yuri could continue lifting his arms to wipe away the moisture falling down his cheeks with his sleeves. Yuuri took a slightly different approach. He sat between Yuri’s legs at more of an angle, which offered him the space to reach up and wipe stray tears from Yuri’s cheeks with his thumbs and to rest his forehead against Yuri’s temple. It was invasive and awful and cradled safely between them, Yuri began sobbing again in earnest.

Once he’d worked himself down to jagged gulps and near-hiccups, Victor broke the somber stillness. “Did he injure you?”

“Not physically,” Yuri mumbled, nudging his face in closer to Yuuri. When he wanted clarity, he preferred Victor; when he wanted comfort, Yuuri was the only one he turned to.

The man eased back some, leaning more heavily against his mate’s raised knee and opening up his neck so Yuri could duck his head and settle there. He ran his fingers through Yuri’s hair over and over again, a familiar, soothing gesture. Even as Yuuri worked on calming him, Victor had begun sliding a thumb back and forth on Yuri’s collarbone, doing what he could to support his mate’s efforts. After a long, long while, Yuuri asked quietly, “Did you—?”

Shame swallowed his words. He nodded against Yuuri’s neck, eyes burning again despite his best efforts.

“And?” Somehow the former hunter sounded like he was asking for Yuri’s opinion on a film he’d watched or whether a certain pirozhki recipe had turned out.

“I didn’t mean to. But we’d been fighting and then his wrist was in my mouth and …” He closed his eyes and shuddered, the memory of Otabek’s blood filling his mouth, the battle for self-control when all he wanted to do was latch on and drain him dry, to taste everything. “And I did it.”

A brittle tension hit Victor’s body at that statement. Yuuri shifted a little and even with his face buried in the man’s neck, Yuri knew he was giving his mate a death glare because Victor didn’t say a word. Yuuri must have been convinced that Victor wouldn’t break into the conversation, because he kissed Yuri’s hair and said, “Okay.”

That’s it. A single word, devoid of any curiosity, any judgment. _One_ word.

The rest came gushing forward, spilling out of Yuri without warning or cessation. He didn’t want Victor to hear, even though the bastard would probably catch most of it anyway, so he whispered his humiliation and pain into Yuuri’s shirt, punctuated by the occasional tear. And once it was all aired, he slumped against Yuuri’s chest, exhausted. At least it was over with. Yuuri wouldn’t push him any further and if Victor wanted all the dirty details, he could go to hell—

“Are you sure that’s all you felt from him?” Yuuri asked.

“Huh?” Yuri jerked away, the back of his head colliding with Victor’s face, claiming yelps of pain from both of them.

Yuuri was unperturbed by their cursing, too busy watching Yuri with an annoyingly thoughtful expression. “Are you sure shame and guilt were all you felt when you fed?” he clarified.

“How the fuck should I know, pig? You think I wanted to dive any deeper after that?” He was about to go off on Yuuri when Victor’s arms tightened around his chest and he felt the older vampire’s fangs brush the top of his ear with a delicacy born from strong irritation.

“Don’t take your anger out on my Yuuri,” Victor whispered.

Yuri swallowed hard, but gave up his struggles. After a moment, Victor loosened his hold. Yuuri, who waited patiently through the ordeal, continued, “So you didn’t let that connection play out?”

“No,” he grumbled sullenly. It had been painful enough to realize Otabek’s feelings for him weren’t the same. It would have been so much worse to let himself slip further into those traded emotions, to face the true depths of Otabek’s disgust for him, for what they did together. So he’d withdrawn. A tactical retreat. A fucking surrender.

“How much did _you_ give _him_?”

Well, that was salt in the wound. He’d never imagined the pig was the one he’d have to watch out for tonight. “None of your business,” he mumbled, hyper-aware of Victor’s threatening presence at his back and the need to be polite.

“ _Tora_ —”

He glared at Yuuri, daring him to say a single word against his decision. To his credit, the man didn’t burst into a lecture or swear at him or try to rationalize it away. Yuuri simply pressed a hand to his face and held in the sigh Yuri could see building from the stretch of his chest and the tightening of his shoulders. “Really?” he asked with the same patience not uncommon in some saints. “No safeguards at all?”

“In the heat of the moment, I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

Victor’s self-control must have reached its limit, because he leaned forward so his head was resting on Yuri’s shoulder and asked his mate a question in Japanese. Face still somewhat hidden by his hand, Yuuri responded back. His retort, curt and clipped, made Yuri nervous. When Victor’s expression darkened and his tone dropped to a low growl, Yuri got _really_ nervous. And then Victor’s fangs fully extended and he and Yuuri got into some kind of argument that ended with Victor unceremoniously dumping Yuri off the stoop when he stood without warning, and Yuuri holding a hand to Victor’s chest and snapping back at him with absolute _carnage_ in his eyes. Since he was still alive, Yuri figured the reactions weren’t directed at him, but had a sinking feeling that Otabek probably wasn’t so lucky.

When they both began looking toward the entrance of the alley, Yuri knew it was time to step in.

“Oi, not Japanese, you assholes,” Yuri snarled. “If you’re going to ruin my life, tell me in a language I can understand.”

That stopped their argument long enough for Yuri to stand and stuff his hands in his pockets. Victor, cheeks flushed high with color, kept staring between the alley’s exit and his mate. “Yuuri says I can’t kill the hunter.”

“Hell no,” Yuri agreed, shooting the pig a look of thanks. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Victor’s frowned, his mouth a thin, tight line, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“It was my own damn fault. If I hadn’t been so sloppy, he wouldn’t have gotten the drop on me.”

“Oh, I know that,” Victor said. “We’ll start training again tomorrow. Intensively. But for now—” He reached out and grabbed hold of Yuri’s arm just above the elbow. He ignored Yuri’s sharp protest and tugged him toward the _opposite_ end of the alley, away from the direction they’d been checking. “—we’re going home.”

“What about the pig?”

“I have a former colleague to speak with.”

It turned out the world could crash down on his head twice in one night. He froze, gaping at Yuuri as he turned and sauntered away from them, toward the construction yard Yuri had fled. “N—no, you can’t do that!”

Yuuri glanced back over his shoulder, a dark brow raised in a frightening facsimile of Victor’s arrogance. “Oh, I can and I will. He’s in no place to talk to you, or to let you try to explain what this means for him. We worked together for years. He needs to know what’s happening and I’m the best option at delivering that news. Besides, if he goes off the deep end, I know his fighting style well enough to get away.”

Shit, shit, shit. He needed an excuse to keep the pig away from Otabek. “There’s no way you’ll be able to find him. He probably kept patrolling after I took off.”

The lameness of the statement made Yuuri snort in amusement. “Finding him will be the easiest thing I’ve done all night.”

Victor’s hand tightened around his arm, but Yuri had one more last ditch effort to make. “You haven’t seen him in years! You don’t even remember what he smells like.”

“I don’t have to remember,” Yuuri said with an elegant wave of his hand. His smile was wicked. “Your shirt gave me plenty to scent off of.”

By the time Yuri’s cheeks stopped burning and he’d wrenched his arm free from a laughter-weakened Victor, Yuuri had already slipped out of the alley and gone. There was nothing to do but pray Yuuri was unable to find Otabek.

 

*****

 

In the dim light of the dive bar he’d crawled into after finishing his patrol, Otabek eyed his wrist for what must have been the fiftieth time. There were no marks, no bruises. There was nothing to indicate that a few short hours ago, Yuri’s fangs had been embedded in his flesh. There was no proof that Otabek hadn’t just allowed Yuri to feed on him, he’d _urged_ Yuri to do it. Well, no proof except the roiling of his gut and the vodka he was dosing himself with.

He had one job: be the Brotherhood’s sword. That was it. It was simple enough. Remember the teachings, hunt the monsters, save the world. It was an easy job, a good job, a job he felt confident executing. It was a job that gave him the chance to make up for his failures all those years ago. If he did his job, he’d be able to sleep at night without his family’s faces haunting him.

Instead, he’d lost his mind over one of the most dangerous vampires known to the Brotherhood. He’d shared his blood. He’d shamed the memory of his family. And worst of all, he wanted to do it again.

He groaned into the counter and prepared to signal the barman for another round when someone set a glass down just inside his view.

“Thought you could use this,” an amused voice said. Its owner slipped onto the empty stool next to him. “Rough night?”

Why was that tone familiar? “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not the best company tonight and I’m not looking for someone to go home with.” Unless it was Yuri.

“That’s a pity. I remember us getting drunk together because we knew it would be a sure thing.”

Holy fuck. Otabek straightened as he looked at the man sitting next to him and reached out a shaky hand to clasp his shoulder. “Yuuri—? Y-you’re dead.”

The man made a face and shrugged, but reached up and placed a hand over Otabek’s. “Kind of? Definitely not as dead as the Brotherhood would have you believe.”

Otabek couldn’t breathe. Not correctly, that is. His chest was too tight and his eyes kept filling up unexpectedly so he had to dash the tears away to make sure the Yuuri in front of him was still there. Was real. “They said you were a traitor. That after using you, Nikiforov killed you.”

“Again, kind of? Except, Victor didn’t use me.”

Otabek fought his slight buzz and tried to focus. The man sitting beside him _looked_ like Brother Yuuri Katsuki. Maybe a little leaner. Missing his glasses. And what had he done with his hair? It didn’t flop messily over his forehead now, but was swept back in a way that showed off the planes of his face and his eyes, which were far too amused by Otabek’s mute appraisal. Deep, deep in his gut, Otabek knew, even before Yuuri took a breath and flashed him a smile with a hint of fang. Maybe that’s why he didn’t reach for his weapons or yell for people to get out. Maybe that’s why, without moving his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder, he grabbed the new vodka and knocked it back. It burned on the way down and his eyes watered.

So, Yuuri hadn’t been killed after all. The Brotherhood’s official judgment on his treason, their formal declaration of his passing at Nikiforov’s hands once he became a burden, all of it was a lie. Not like Otabek could blame them. How do you explain to your fresh recruits that one of your best field agents turned researchers decided to join the enemies’ ranks?

“So … Nikiforov turn you or someone else?”

“He did.” His former partner’s smile was soft and shy.

“Fuck,” Otabek muttered. “I should have seen it coming.”

“Yes, you really should have,” Yuuri agreed, signaling for more drinks.

Otabek shut his eyes and rested his head back on the bar counter. God, he was an idiot. How many times had he lain there in Yuuri’s bed, body sated and mind somewhere between the warmth of alcoholic buzz and the post-sex endorphin rush, listening to Yuuri ramble on and on about his research on Nikiforov and the Russian bloodlines? How often had Yuuri closed his eyes or looked away at that moment of climax, lost in his own world? Otabek had just assumed it was his shy nature or some quirk that only came out when he was drunk, but now he understood. Yuuri may have been there physically during sex, but mentally … He’d never even been in the same room with Otabek. Part of him felt embarrassed for not noticing sooner. But another part of him, the part still reeling from a certain blond’s vanishing act, was grateful. It meant that what he and Yuuri had had wasn’t real, not like what he had now.

_Had_ being the operative word.

“I should kill you,” he mumbled, knowing Yuuri would hear him.

“You could try,” the former brother corrected. “But I don’t think you’d be very successful in your attempt in an establishment such as this.”

The subtle warning got Otabek to raise his head and look around. He was met with several cool, calculating stares, including on from the barman, who dropped off another set of vodkas for them. He lifted his glass, inspecting the play of the bar’s lighting on the clear liquid inside. “Out of all the dives in this town, I pick the only watering hole.”

Yuuri grinned and lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “You always had great instincts for our kind.”

Otabek shook his head, torn between laughter and tears. “I can’t believe my fucking life.”

“I can’t either. How’d you go from playing the Brotherhood’s Saint Michael to fucking one of the demons you’re tasked to kill?”

He choked on his sip and had to wait for the hacking to subside before he could risk giving Yuuri a wary glance. “How do you know that?”

“You smell like him,” Yuuri said bluntly. Otabek looked away before the vampire could see the flush rising in his cheeks. “And you’ve been staring at your wrist for almost an hour.”

“You’ve been watching me for that long? Why didn’t you come over to talk to me sooner?”

Now Yuuri avoided his gaze. “I needed time to think.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure if you would listen to what I need to tell you.”

Oh, that couldn’t be good. One of the things he’d appreciated most about Yuuri was his straightforward assessments. If Yuuri was debating how to tell him this news, it meant he wouldn’t want to hear it.

“Are you here to warn me off?” Otabek asked. “Did he send you?”

When Yuuri tilted his head back and began laughing, Otabek decided he wasn’t ready for this conversation. Clearly, he was out of his element. His supposedly-dead ex-lover turned vampire had reappeared to discuss … _something_ important, but Otabek couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the war raging inside him. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to walk away from Yuri, but if Yuri walked away from _him_ …

“You think I’d play errand boy for him?” Yuuri shook his head and wiped at the corners of his eyes, still chuckling. “No. I’m here because you hurt him and I’m trying to decide whether or not to let you live.”

He reached toward his stake on instinct, but Yuuri caught his hand before he could reach the weapon.

“Ah ah,” the vampire told him in a low voice, “let’s not resort to that yet. Especially not here.” With obvious deliberation, he released Otabek’s hand, stood, and tossed some money on the counter with a nod at the barman. “Shall we take a walk?” When Otabek didn’t move, Yuuri added, “There’s a reason it’s _me_ here and not Victor.”

With that knowledge, there was little choice but to comply. They strolled down the near-silent streets with a safe distance between them. Down the hill, Otabek knew a path would lead to the beach. He hadn’t gone back there since that night with Yuri, the expanse too haunted with the memory of bright eyes and a vulnerability he’d held in his hands like spun glass.

“He fed from you tonight,” Yuuri said, breaking the silence in that cool manner of his.

“He did. It was …” He swallowed hard, awkward and a little afraid of saying it aloud. If the words came out, that meant they were true. “It wasn’t like the Brotherhood said.”

At his side, Yuuri made a sweet hum of agreement. “No, it’s not.” He lifted his head, staring up at the streetlights as he quoted, “The pain will be unbearable. It will latch onto your soul and you will feel your life leaving you drop by drop. To allow a vampire to feed on you is to forget your sacred purpose. You will be contaminated. You will be useless to the virtue of our cause.”

Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck and spine at the dire warning. It had been recited to him so much as a child he had mouthed along with Yuuri, even after years without hearing it aloud. He was so stuck he almost missed Yuuri’s question.

“What did it feel like to you?”

He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. He was again swept into that rush of emotion, unable to explain, and then he remember that last feeling. The one he hadn’t been able to reach. “It was too much. Until the end. And then it was …” He looked down at his feet, still searching for words. They spilled out anyway, unprepared and unrehearsed. “It was perfect. And warm. It made me want to keep going. It was what I imagine seeing my family again would be like.”

He winced. Yuuri knew about his family, of course. Most of the brothers did. They all had different reasons for joining; Otabek’s were just made front and center because he was able to provide new recruits with a cautionary tale. No matter how known his past’s tragedy was, he still hated talking about it.

“You don’t seem surprised to hear that,” he said, hoping to divert Yuuri’s attention from the raw wound he’d just reopened.

“I’m not.” Nothing but tired resignation in the vampire’s voice. “I was afraid of that, but not surprised.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means Yuri mated himself to you.”

One second, he was walking. The next, he was on his knees in the middle of an abandoned sidewalk, wheezing and wondering why there were black spots in his vision. Yuuri crouched beside him, not touching, but watching with canny, dark eyes.

“I said, Yuri mated himself to you,” Yuuri repeated, slower this time. It didn’t make it any easier to breathe. “ _You_ aren’t mated to _him_.”

“Wh-what?”

“The Brotherhood didn’t lie when they described feeding to us. They didn’t tell us the whole truth though. The connection between donor and vampire goes both ways. If there’s resistance on either end, it goes … badly.”

“Like the Brotherhood said,” Otabek said weakly.

Yuuri nodded. “But if you _have_ a connection, the path is open to you both. You can choose how far to walk.”

His head hurt. His heart hurt. He reached up and pressed the heel of his palms to his temples, squeezing and wishing it would make the pounding stop. Wishing he hadn’t been drinking so he could tell if the nausea was from the alcohol or the knowledge that he’d walked too far down that path. He was never supposed to have connected to Yuri like that. _That_ is what his former partner had come to tell him.

“Yuri was angry with me,” Otabek whispered. “Shame and guilt … He stopped at those.”

“Can you blame him?”

“No.” He held Yuuri’s gaze, terrified and very close to reaching his limit. “If he had gone further, if I’d _let_ him go further—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s in your heart.” The ghost of a smirk brushed Yuuri’s lips. “I don’t think _you_ know either.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to do what’s right.”

A flash of hope. He could fix this. He could find Yuri, apologize, ask for time to sort out the mess he’d become, find a way to balance the Brotherhood’s orders with his newfound knowledge of vampires—

“Break it.” Yuuri stood now, glaring down at Otabek, his body straining against the tightly leashed violence coiled in his muscles. “Break his mating bond to you. I _know_ you, Otabek. He doesn’t. He doesn’t understand that there’s no saving you. There’s no soul left.”

Every sentence a whiplash to his heart, the pain radiating out because it was true. It was all true.

A pale hand offered him a napkin with a number written in dark ink. “Finish your mission. Text me when it’s over. Leave, like you always do. I’ll break the news to him.”

Call it courage, call it desperation, call it a death wish, but Otabek held Yuri’s glare with one of his own. “And if I don’t?”

“Victor and I pay you a visit.” His glare softened for a moment with genuine pity. “They’re family, Otabek. You understand why I will do anything to protect them.”

He did understand. Family was worth protecting, worth saving. If he could have gotten there in time, he would have lain down his life without thought to save his father, his mother, his sisters. He hadn’t though. Those miserable, pained faces stared at him over the chasm of years, the stench of blood and death clinging to them as fresh as the day he’d stumbled into his childhood home and reaped the suffering he’d sown.

He understood. He respected Yuuri for being strong enough to do what he hadn’t. He took the napkin.

The vampire nodded once, satisfied, and turned to leave. He was about the turn the corner when Otabek called to him, “Please don’t blame him.”

Yuuri paused, a beautiful, dark shadow under the flickering streetlight. “I don’t. Yuri may have offered you his heart, but you had no right to take it.”


	11. Let Go

Somehow, Otabek made it back to his new apartment. There was no alcohol to be found. He’d have to fix that later. The night’s conversation kept replaying in his head, Yuuri’s face appearing when he closed his eyes. He stripped to his boxers and ran himself through a full workout. Sweat dripping down his back and chest, he ran through another workout. Nothing helped slow the racing of his mind.

Safe in the confines of the shower, water spilling over his face and aching body, Otabek finally allowed himself to circle around the new information he’d received. He couldn’t decide what was worse: being told that Yuri had mated to him or that Yuuri and Victor would kill him if he let that bond stand. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t asked Yuri to share so intimately with him.

He hadn’t really fought against it either. And some sick, twisted part of him enjoyed knowing that, in a small way, Yuri was _his_.

 _Mine._ He groaned and pressed his head to the cold tiles. He’d _wanted_ this. No matter what he claimed to anyone else, no matter what lies he told himself, in that moment, he had wanted Yuri completely. And now his wish had come true.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” he mumbled as he reached for the soap.

By the time he finished showering and looked in the mirror to begin patching up the cut on his cheek, Otabek knew he was trapped. The thought of breaking the mating bond like Yuuri and Victor demanded left him nauseous. The thought of betraying the Brotherhood and its cause left him light-headed. How the fuck was he supposed to choose between the Brotherhood and Yuri? He couldn’t turn his back on the organization that had helped him support his family, then helped him get revenge when he lost them. But he’d never dreamed of finding someone like Yuri … of thinking of creating a life that went beyond the Brotherhood.

He ended up going to bed without any answers. Exhausted, hurting, and selfishly wishing something or someone else could solve the dilemma for him, he fell into an uneasy sleep. But even his dreams offered no respite.

 _It was cold. The street he huddled in was dirty, trash littering the ground near his feet. He was young, barely more than a child. His bones ached, his skin felt too small for his body. A young woman passing by stepped into the shadows where he hid and asked if he was okay. He opened his mouth to respond but his gums pulsed with sharp, splitting pains and he was lonely_ _… He was so lonely. She was kind and she tasted of sugar and fear and he drank her dry. Her corpse fell from his trembling hands like the husk of a butterfly—beautiful still, but empty and forgettable._

Otabek woke with a start. It took several minutes for the coppery tang of blood to fade from his tongue. With a grunt of pain, he rolled over and checked his phone. He’d managed a few hours sleep. Might as well check in with Leo to see how their hunting had gone. Maybe they’d bagged the vamp after he’d left. Maybe they could take over this strigoii case for him and he could flee America and the impossible choice Yuuri had given him.

_Leave, like you always do._

He winced at the memory of Yuuri’s words. He wished he could argue, but there wasn’t a point. He _did_ leave people behind. It was easier, kinder, safer. The times he’d lost those he cared about most, it was because he’d _returned_.

_Not now. Don_ _'t_ _think about them now._

He hurried to Leo’s apartment, trying—and failing—to outrun the ghosts of his past and the ghostly presence of Yuri. That distraction was probably why he unceremoniously swung open Leo’s door and nearly hit a smiling young man in the face.

"Shit! Who the fuck are you?" Otabek asked.

"Altin, this is Brother Nekola," Leo said, stepping a little closer and eyeing Otabek with obvious concern. "Your new partner."

The man stuck out a hand and grinned. "Emil. An honor to meet you, Brother Altin."

Crap, that's right. The Brotherhood was sending another hunter to help him with the strigoii. He pushed down his ill temper and shook Emil's hand. "Sorry, didn't mean to come off like an ass. It was a boring patrol and I'm a little ancy." He threw a look to Leo, who'd retreated back to Guang Hong's seat on the couch. "How'd it go for you two?"

"Nothing," Guang Hong confirmed. "We searched the area you'd seen it in, but didn't find any sign of it."

"No signs of predation either," Leo added. "Seems a little odd. I thought vamps that went off the deep end killed indiscriminately."

 _Careful, Altin. Don't give away details if you can't explain how you got them._  "Maybe nothing triggered it last night. At least we don't have another body to report."

"Yeah, I'm grateful for that." Leo pointed toward the fridge. “There’s some tamales left, if you’re hungry.”

Otabek wrinkled his nose. “How the hell do you stay in good shape with all the crap you eat?”

“I eat well and work out,” Leo protested, but his blush gave away his embarrassment. “Besides, Guang Hong’s never tried them before.”

“They were good,” the kid—no, he wasn’t a kid, no matter how young he appeared—said in defense of Leo. “He’s been a great partner since I arrived.”

Leo beamed and Otabek rolled his eyes. But he still turned to the newly arrived Brother Nekola and asked, “What do you want to eat? I’m buying. Consider it an apology for almost hitting you in the face.”

Which is how he ended back on the boardwalk, Emil walking beside him, devouring an unimaginable array of fried food that made Otabek’s stomach churn from the smell alone. Revisiting the sights, hearing the games and laughter, watching the crowd without Yuri was like staring at an out-of-focus photograph. It was all recognizable, all familiar, but he kept listening for an amused Russian purr, looking for a flash of blond hair—

“Brother Altin?”

A glance at Emil warned Otabek that he’d been out of it too long to make an easy excuse. “Sorry. What?”

“I was just going to ask you for more information about the strigoii, but your mind appears elsewhere.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hating the pull on his injured ribs. “It’s no excuse for poor work though. I’m sure you were expecting much more from me.”

Emil didn’t quite frown, not fully. Otabek wondered if he was capable of any negative expression at all. “Brother Altin—”

“Otabek, please.” With the current direction of his thoughts he couldn’t bear to hear the Brotherhood’s formal title.

“Otabek,” Emil corrected, “I’ve grown up hearing stories about you. I have no doubt that you’re one of the Brotherhood’s most capable soldiers. But you are also human and it would be unwise to ignore that part of your life.” He managed a quick smile before adding, “Besides, I know how distracting a broken heart can be.”

“B-broken heart?”

Emil was too focused on his funnel cake to notice Otabek’s distress. “That’s why I joined the Brotherhood, you know.”

“Oh?” Apparently it was bonding time. Maybe he could call Yuuri and get the vamp and his mate to come kill him before the conversation with Emil could continue.

“I grew up in an orphanage. There was a brother and sister there with me. We were … close. I always swore to them, to _her_ , that I’d find a good job, return and take her away. She didn’t want to wait, I guess.” His smile was brittle, the first sign Otabek had seen that maybe there was some flawed human under the perfect exterior. “When the Brotherhood offered to train me, it made sense. At least it would help me forget, you know?”

“It doesn’t,” Otabek said flatly. “I thought so too, but …”

Emil nodded, his gaze fixed on a family standing in line for the ferris wheel. “We never get over those we love.”

“No.” He watched the family for a moment. The little sister clung to her exasperated older brother’s hand while their parents looked on and laughed. Something inside keened and Otabek turned, grief and guilt warring for supremacy.

Emil cleared his throat, a nervous gesture that seemed out of character for such an easy-going man. “Umm, I heard what happened when I was in training. But if you ever want to talk about it—”

“I don’t. We need to discuss strategy about the strigoii.”

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe if he’d let Yuri go further, let him see into his heart, see the sin there, the bond would have broken on its own.

Even demons loathe hell, and his was poor kingdom to offer in exchange for the paradise Yuri possessed.

 

*****

 

When his body slammed into the mat yet again, Yuri regretted his near immortality. He’d heal from this, there was no doubt of that. But between the fight with Otabek and tonight’s practice, his body felt like a giant, throbbing bruise. At least that hurt less than his stupid heart.

“Why’d I pin you?” Victor asked for what felt like the hundredth time, forcing Yuri’s thoughts away from that subject.

“Because I didn’t fight you,” Yuri said, staring up at the ceiling and wishing his mentor would either kill him and put him out of his misery or back the fuck off. They’d been training since they got back to the nest and Victor seemed determined to not give Yuri a moment alone to process any of the disaster that was now his life. “Are we done?”

Across the training room, Yakov made a low grumble of exhaustion.

“No, we’re not done,” Victor said, seemingly unaware of Yuri’s ill temper. “And I pinned you because you’re not aligning your hips correctly when you try that throw. You don’t want to go cock to cock with your opponent.” His open face beamed with delight. “Unless you _do_. Maybe that’s why you lost to Altin. Did you get distracted?”

 _Now_ Yuri fought. He bucked and writhed and snapped with full fang, which only caused Victor to laugh and pin him even more firmly to the ground.

“I fucking hate you, old man,” Yuri fumed.

“Hate me all you want. You’d still be dead.” He released his hold on Yuri and rose, extending a hand to help him up. “Time to hit the bags. You’d better try harder or we’re back here on the mats.”

He obeyed. Anything was better than letting Victor beat the crap out of him. That’s what this was, after all. Even if it was under the guise of training, Yuri knew Victor was getting his revenge for an evening of foolhardy decisions. Feeding from Otabek, forming a connection during the feeding, accidentally forcing Yuuri to go find him. Oh, yeah, Victor was pissed. Yakov too though, since he didn’t interrupt Victor’s training unless it was demand that Yuri be pushed even harder.

Like now. Every kick and punch, every order to change on a dime, worked him to exhaustion. He could barely stand when he heard the calls of welcome from the rest of the family.

“The pig’s back,” he gasped, resting his hands on his knees and praying Victor got distracted.

It worked. Victor's demands ceased completely when the pig walked back in. Yuri didn't have a moment of relief though, since Yakov stood and took over with a viciousness Yuri hadn't faced since his days as a stupid, out of control juvenile. He continued throwing punches and kicks as he watched the mated pair reunite. His lip curled at the sight and his frustration fueled him past the pain and exhaustion. Victor was clingier than usual, draping himself over Yuuri, nuzzling against the man's pulse points. Yuuri laughed and murmured something which made the silver-haired vampire growl back. And then they started making out. When Victor began nipping at Yuuri's neck, enough was enough.

"Hey, assholes," Yuri yelled as he threw another punch that split his knuckles against the worn leather of the bag, "I don't want to see that shit!"

Victor flipped him off and kept attacking his mate. Fortunately, the pig wasn't into public sex, so he dragged Victor out of the training area. Yakov didn't say anything about Victor's sudden absence, although his permanent scowl settled in a little deeper.

"They're disgusting," Yuri mumbled, wincing when his kick connected awry on the heavy bag.

"It's your own fault they're doing that," Yakov told him. "They're mated and Victor was worried. Now, stop thinking about them. You're extension is too slow. You need to snap your kicks or you’ll end up breaking your leg like a moron."

Yakov let him off the hook an hour later, when Yuri collapsed into a heap on the floor and could do nothing except sweat and pant. The old vampire commented about his distraction being a detriment to their training and said they’d continue tomorrow. Yuri managed to hold in his groan, but once Yakov was gone, he sprawled back onto the floor and prayed for death to come. When it became clear it wouldn’t, he crawled his miserable ass back toward his room.

“You okay, Yuri?” Minami called from one of the living rooms as he passed.

He grunted in response, hoping it would be enough to keep the energetic youngster at bay. It only seemed to encourage him, since he abandoned the television and hurried over to help Yuri stand.

“Damn,” Minami muttered when Yuri swayed drunkenly on his feet, “have you eaten tonight?”

“No,” Yuri said. He reached out and pressed his hand against the wall in a vain effort to make the dizziness stop. “Got interrupted.”

Minami frowned and stared pointedly at the wide variety of injuries Yuri sported. His split knuckles and bruises had been healing slower and slower as the night’s training wore on, a sign that he was reaching his limit. Yakov was good at knowing just how far he could press before the body would shut down. Minami’s grip around his waist tightened. “I know you prefer Phichit, but you need to feed.”

“I’m fine,” Yuri snarled, but the other man ignored him and helped him toward his room.

“You’re not fine. The wrist won’t be enough at this point. You’ll need to take from the neck.” Minami herded Yuri toward the bathroom. “It’ll be easier to clean up if we’re in the shower.”

“Just want an excuse to see me naked,” Yuri griped as Minami began stripping him.

The man snorted at his comment. Yuri knew that Minami had a hard-on for Yuuri, but there was no hope of ever becoming his donor after his mating to Victor. And still, he’d stuck around.

“Isn’t it too painful?” Yuri asked before he could think better of it.

Minami’s efforts to tug off Yuri’s pants slowed. “Isn’t _what_ too painful?”

“Seeing them together all the time?”

A faint flush rose to Minami’s cheeks, but he didn’t deny anything. Instead, he surprised Yuri by saying, “Having Brother Katsuki in my life, in _any_ form, is better than not having him at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

Minami shrugged, tossed the last of Yuri’s clothes aside, and began taking off his own. “I’ve got no regrets. And while moping is a valid response to having someone rip the heart of your chest, we seriously need to get you to feed. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Yuri went through the motions in a daze. Minami got the water running, coaxed him into the shower, helped him stand, and bared his neck. Yuri stood there like an idiot, staring at the water sluicing down the man’s skin and feeling nothing but a growing sense of loss.

_Only me. No one else gets that part of you._

“Fuck,” Yuri mumbled. And he struck, Otabek’s words haunting him.

He forced himself to swallow every gulp, fighting his gag reflex and reminding himself that _this_ was normal. Using donors was normal, expected, the only way for him to remain healthy. Logically, it didn’t take long before Minami tapped his waist. But he still felt like it had been a slow, painful eternity before he could unseal his lips from the man’s skin and lick his tongue over the twin punctures to seal the wounds. The water quickly washed away the remaining blood. The pink swirled down the drain and Yuri stared at it long after it disappeared.

“You good?” Minami asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He waited for the other man to dry off, redress, and leave his rooms entirely. Once Yuri was positive he was alone, he bent over and vomited until nothing came up but frothy bile. The purge left him shivering and weak in the knees, but at least the sick roiling of his gut had stopped and the guilty whisper of Otabek’s words fell silent. He rinsed out his mouth in the cold water of the shower, cleaned himself as best he could, and turned off the water. It took longer than he liked to dry off and get dressed in an oversized shirt and some boxers, but he was happily numb by the time he emerged from his rooms and went to the kitchen.

Phichit and Milla were the only ones there. Their quiet conversation stopped when Yuri entered. He raised a brow at Phichit. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks for distracting him. Sounds like it was a rough night for you too.”

Yuri shrugged and snagged a mug from the cupboard. “They’re a little pissed.”

He ignored their blatant interest when he pulled a bag from the fridge and emptied it into the mug. Milla cleared her throat once it was heating in the microwave and he turned to her, knowing it was better to get this over with now than later.

“Still hungry?” she asked him. “Minami said you fed from him.”

He shrugged again. “Like the hamster said, it was a rough night.”

“If you need more,” Phichit began, but the microwave’s beeping cut him off.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” He took his mug back to his room, pretending he didn’t notice them waiting to start talking again until they thought he was out of hearing distance.

He settled in on his bed and sipped at his meal cautiously. The blood was warm, but stale. Best of all, there was _nothing_. No connection, no need for walls, nothing but sterility and an empty mind. He finished off the mug, brushed his teeth, and crawled into bed. By the dim light of his cell phone’s screen, he watched the wounds on his hands begin to heal over, scabs forming slowly. Sticking to bagged blood would limit his healing abilities—donated blood was far richer and nutritious—and might require him to hit up blood banks further away from their feeding grounds to avoid suspicion, but he shuddered thinking of the alternative.

Otabek’s blood had made it clear what he thought of Yuri. He wouldn’t be angry if Yuri fed from others. He probably wouldn’t care if Yuri ran himself into a stake, but _Yuri_ cared. The awe and wonder in Otabek’s voice when he’d whispered those words … _that_ would sustain Yuri. His entire life, he’d searched for something more and now that he’d found it, tasted it, nothing would ever be able to compare. No, it didn’t matter what Otabek thought or how difficult living this way might become.

His throat tightened and his grandfather’s words rose in the back of his mind. _Yurochka, a mating bond is the most important promise you_ _’ll ever make. Be faithful. Be strong. Make me proud._

He flexed his hand in the near darkness, dimly noting the pain when the scabs of his knuckles split and tore. “I’ll make you proud, Grandpa,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”

Heart lightened and head full of happier times, he let sleep claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this update on here. I'm working on translating my handwritten notes from my trip, so it's taking me some time to get these together and in some kind of acceptable form. But the good news is that all sorts of fun and exciting things are about to happen and I feel slightly evil knowing what's coming. Thanks for your patience and willingness to stick it out with me as life (and the "real" job) starts getting busy again!


	12. O Death

The worst part of the bond was the connection flaring to life at the most inconvenient times.

“Otabek, hurry up!” Emil bellowed as they sprinted down yet another alley in pursuit of the vamp they’d sighted.

He was trying. Except he’d been here before, seen this before, and it wasn’t _his_ memory and he wanted to throw his head back and scream a warning to Emil but there was no way to explain the sensation of dread that weighted his limbs and made his pulse race. He—no, Yuri—had done this before. Had chased this monster in a different life. Not in this town, not down these streets, but that didn’t matter. Otabek knew deep in his heart that what they were chasing was pure evil and he feared it because _Yuri_ feared it.

They skidded their way through another trash-filled intersection. They’d been trailing this bastard for weeks. More bodies piling up outside of clubs despite Leo and Guang Hong’s best efforts. No movements of the strigoii, but the continual threat hanging over their heads since small animals had started to go missing in the area Otabek had faced the small army. And tonight, they’d finally caught up to their prey.

Emil began to pull ahead and Otabek forced himself to follow.

His feet beat a tattoo against the pavement, an echo of his heart. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

They should pull back. They should call for help. But they were committed. He hadn’t sat in that fucking alley, hand pressed to the young woman’s throat as her hot blood leaked through his fingers, whispering lies about the paramedics coming and how she’d be fine, unless he intended to kill the bastard who had ripped her throat out in front of him and Emil.

He couldn’t waste any more time. He’d called Yuuri when he’d left the cooling body and chased after Emil. He was probably going to die tonight, so it seemed only fair to warn that Yuri would soon be free of him. It had gone to voicemail and he wondered if his former lover would even give Yuri his message. _I_ _’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to leave you too._ His last words, little more than a feeble attempt to make up for the pain he’d caused. Another disaster to add to his tally … No, he refused to think about that.

Ahead of him, Emil’s slim, athletic form. He knew he wasn’t falling _that_ far behind, but the memories overlapped and Emil was gone, hazy behind the flickering image of an older man Yuri loved with all his heart. A man Otabek knew was about to die. It had taken him days to realize that his dreams weren’t dreams at all, but memories. Most played out once and faded away, like the scent of cherry blossoms on a warm spring breeze. Others, like this one, circled back, slunk into the corners of Otabek’s mind and stayed there, quietly settling themselves in so he could recall the details while he was awake.

He’d learned so much. Had so many regrets.

They cut through another block. The streets were falling into disrepair. Fewer lights here. More places to hide. Shadows shifting around them, closing in like a net. There was no way he and Emil could win with the odds stacked against them. That wasn’t really the point though, was it? Not anymore. The memories had taught him that Yuri would be strong enough to survive Otabek’s loss. And Otabek would kill this demon who haunted Yuri’s memories. He would finish it off so the Brotherhood forgot all about this damn town and Yuri and his family could try to create a new home.

That’s all Yuri had ever wanted. Otabek knew that now, understood. He wished he had been stronger, had been brave enough to offer it himself, to claim it for himself. He wished he hadn’t listened to Yuuri. Wished he could believe he deserved more than this. He wanted a _life_ and now that it was within his grasp, he couldn’t reach out and take it, not at the cost of Yuri’s future. He’d never been good at creating life. Gifted at taking it, but nothing else. He could use that now. Death was the only thing he could offer. He just prayed it would be enough.

 

*****

 

Yuri polished off his second mug of blood and washed it in the sink. He heard Phichit muttering darkly behind him, but didn’t care. He’d come to peace with this decision and the relief of that was intoxicating.

His only was regret was having to lie to them all. He promised he was finding donors during his nightly prowls when he searched for Georgi. He paid strangers at the underground clubs to provide him with more blood bags so the family’s count wouldn’t go down by suspicious amounts. He adjusted his wardrobe in tiny ways, learning to dress himself to hide the physical changes. He hid his injuries from training and learned to carry the weight of his suffering. His grandpa had done it for decades; he could too.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to invade his privacy, but you deserve to know more about him,” Phichit said from his spot at the table. His laptop was open, a carefully stacked and paper-clipped pile of pages beside it. Otabek’s history, all of it that Phichit had been able to dig up and hack into.

“I don’t want to know.”

Phichit heaved a deep sigh and partially closed the lid of his computer. “Fine. Don’t read Altin’s file. But at least read over the rest of them. Four hunters in one area is unusual and since you go out every night, you need to know what you’re up against.”

He rolled his eyes, but took a seat beside his friend. Phichit was already suspicious of him due to the lack of feeding and Yuri didn’t want him to start prodding at open wounds. The man had the tenacity of a bulldog. Yuri flipped through the documents, letting out a low, impressed whistle at the sheer quantity of information Phichit had found. “Damn, hamster, remind me to never piss you off. Where did you get all of this?”

Phichit preened a little. “Mixture of sources. Also managed to crack part of the Brotherhood’s database.”

“Are you sure they weren’t giving an opening so they could find you?”

His friend snorted and shook his head. “I thought that at first. It was too easy. But the more precautions I took, the more obvious it was that the Brotherhood has no idea how to protect their digital history.”

“Well, the pig did say they were somewhat antiquated,” Yuri mused, skimming a dense paragraph about the new Chinese hunter’s track record. Decent for someone so young, but nothing too impressive. “It sounds like they haven’t allowed any new blood into their inner circle.”

“Lucky for us,” Phichit remarked.

The last packet was about the newest hunter, a young Czech named Emil Nekola. Yuri worked through the basics, mind wandering a little as he read over the training the man had gone through. But there, buried in the last page, he found a tiny kernel of information that sparked his brain to life. “What’s this mean?” he asked, shoving the papers toward Phichit, finger pointing at the line on the page.

Phichit read it over and frowned. “Means he was an orphan when the Brotherhood indoctrinated him. Not uncommon for hunters—”

“No, not that. _This_.” He stabbed again at the paper.

Phichit mumbled something foul under his breath, but read the paper more carefully. The furrows of his brow deepened and he caught his breath. “Oh, shit.”

Yuri dragged his chair closer and reached to turn the laptop so he could see better. Phichit slapped his hand absently, but didn’t ask for space. Instead, he began working. Yuri fidgeted, bouncing his leg while Phichit’s fingers flew over the keys. It had been years ago, but he could still remember Sara sitting beside Milla in the living room of their nest in Russia, crying quietly. Telling them about her childhood, her brother, her friend, and that friend’s efforts to help her. He remembered the surge of jealousy he’d felt hearing that she still had people who cared about her while his world had fallen to ashes mere months before. He’d been the only vote in the family against turning her. Yakov had allowed Milla to go through with it because he knew Yuri’s vote was made out of sheer spite. They’d mostly made up, but Yuri still had a lot of work to get Sara to trust him.

He was older now, a little wiser, and he took no pleasure in the knowledge that his pettiness could now be justified.

“You’re right.” Phichit’s voice was grim and flat. “State-held documents confirming that all three were at the same orphanage. This is bad, Yuri.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He rose from the table. “I’ll let them know. Can you dig a little deeper on this?”

“Already on it.”

“Already on what?” Victor asked as he made his way into the room. Yakov and Yuuri trailed after him. Yakov looked sterner than normal and when he thought Yuri was distracted, the pig slipped Phichit his phone and had a quiet, emphatic conversation.

“The new hunter in town, Nekola, must be the boy Sara remembers from the orphanage.”

Yakov’s permanent scowl deepened.

Yuri crossed his arms. “It’s Michele. He’s the one creating the strigoii. Why else would they send Nekola here, of all places?”

“Work with Phichit to find what you can. You haven’t seen Sara or Milla leave, have you?”

“No,” Phichit said, his fingers flying over the keys. “They’re still in the nest.”

“Keep them here,” Yakov ordered Yuri. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

Yakov didn’t answer. Victor wouldn’t meet his gaze. He turned his attention to Yuuri, who was looking over Phichit’s shoulder and staring intently at whatever he saw there. The man’s phone sat beside Phichit’s computer, unattended.

Victor realized Yuri’s intentions a second too late. Before the silver haired man could prevent it, Yuri snatched up the phone. The voicemail box sat open, a random number at the top of the list.

“Yuri,” Victor said, the warning in his voice cool and measured. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got this under control.”

Yakov’s eyes glinted and his face darkened. “Listen to Victor, Yuri.”

His body thrummed with every beat of his heart, the panicked rhythm pushing out to his fingertips, his toes, and everywhere in between. He clutched the phone to his chest, lungs constricting, and risked a glance at Yuuri. The man stood beside Phichit, watching with tempered sorrow. And Yuri knew.

“Tell me he didn’t go alone,” he begged.

“We’re trying to find him,” Yuuri promised quietly. “Minami’s gone to get the van ready.”

“He called you.”

“He wanted to say goodbye.”

Victor was saying something. Yakov was yelling. But Yuuri’s dark gaze held his as he lifted the phone to his ear and played the message. The steadiness in Yuuri gave him the strength to listen through the full recording. Otabek’s voice, ragged around rushed breaths, as if he was running while he spoke. _Nekola knows him. Leading us somewhere. Cannery? Katsuki, give this message to Yuri. Please. Tell him I_ _’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to leave you too._ His voice broke and the message ended.

Yuri tossed the phone back to the pig, amazed his numb body could move at all. “He knows it’s a trap.”

“Yes.”

“He thinks he’s going to die.”

Yuuri’s head tilted and Yuri could almost see the Brotherhood’s training rising up in the man. As if, even after all his years with Victor, he still couldn’t comprehend that life might provide enough reasons to _not_ run to certain death. “Why else would he call?”

“I’m coming with you.” Victor started to protest, but Yuri turned on him, fangs out, ready to rip into flesh. He pointed a shaky finger at Yuuri, even as he glared at his mentor. “If _he_ was in danger, could anyone stop you?”

Victor’s mouth opened, shut. The lines around his eyes tightened, but he gave a single shake of his head. From his place at the table, Phichit’s mouth parted in a silent _oh_. He shot a look to Yuuri and something must have been decided in their silent exchange because Phichit flushed, looked at his laptop, and announced, “I’ll keep Sara and Milla here. The phone’s pinging from a tower near the abandoned cannery. They’re not there yet, but I’d hurry. I’ll update you if something changes.”

Yakov said nothing, simply led the way out of the bunker. Minami had already pulled the van up, waiting for them to get in. His normally earnest face was tightened with concern.

“The old cannery,” Yakov told him.

“I grabbed your bag,” Minami told Yuuri as he drove down the dark streets, the headlights flickering over the gently rolling hills as he drove the back roads towards town. “I wasn’t sure what you might need.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri murmured. His hand rested on Yuri’s thigh, a soothing weight, a way of keeping him tied here and now instead of letting his mind wander.

Victor and Yakov sat across from them, their faces matching masks of complete composure. Yuri had never mastered that trick, even with all of Yakov’s training. He was the Ice Tiger of Russia and though he’d outgrown the nickname with greater control, he wore his emotions too close to the surface. Like now, when he couldn’t stop staring out the windshield, willing the van to go faster even though he knew they couldn’t risk getting pulled over, couldn’t risk getting caught. Minami had driven for them over and over again; he’d get them there in time. He had to …

Yuri didn’t know he’d started hyperventilating until he felt Yuuri’s grip on his thigh tighten. “Calm down, _tora_ ,” the man urged. “We’re almost there.”

“It’s Michele,” he whispered. “Otabek doesn’t know what he’s facing.”

“No,” Victor agreed quietly, reaching across the empty space to put a hand on Yuri’s knee.

“Promise me we’ll tell him.” The _if he lives_ hung there at the end of the sentence, an invisible, unnecessary qualifier.

Yakov cleared his throat. “We will. But he chooses his own path after.”

Sweet lies. _After_. The assumption that Otabek would live through this. “Fine.”

He checked the front again. They were in town now, skirting the industrial section, driving deeper and deeper into the darkness of the disused portion people seemed to instinctively avoid. Minami was taking the most direct route, one that shot them toward the ocean and the cannery with dogged intensity.

Brown eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “We’re almost there,” Minami said.

He opened his mouth to respond, but a blade twisted inside his skull and he couldn’t do anything but scream because he was splitting apart from the inside—

“Yuri!” Victor was on his knees, grasping Yuri’s forearms and trying to tug his hands from his head. “Yuri, I need you to listen to me.”

“What’s wrong? Gaaahhh—!” He huddled in on himself as another wave of pain threatened to drag him under. His stomach churned and he wondered if he was going to puke or pass out or die.

“Yurochka, listen.” Cool fingers around his wrists, pale gaze holding his. “I need you to _breathe_. The pain isn’t going to stop. But you have to _breathe_ or you won’t stay conscious.”

“Wh-what’s wrong with me?”

Victor brushed a hand over Yuri’s sweat-drenched forehead, pushing back strands of hair and staring like he was memorizing his charge’s features. “Your mating bond is breaking.”

“No.” He threw his head back, fangs digging into his lower lip and drawing blood, as Yuuri and Victor held him together. He sucked in air and tried to wait the attack out. Yakov gave orders to Minami, but Yuri couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears and the bones grinding from how tightly he squeezed against the sudden constriction of muscles, the electric surge over his nerves, the flickering of his vision.

“Yuri, you need to let him go,” Yuuri whispered when he came back to cognizance.

The van shook and bumped down a shitty road. They were close now. They had to be. It was like a harp string was under his ribs, vibrating from an invisible strum, growing stronger and stronger until the pain swallowed him.

“I can’t,” he whimpered when it passed.

“You can,” Victor promised. “That bond is breaking no matter what you do.”

His body screamed when every muscle locked. His skin burned. His fangs ached. “Why?” It came out a wail, a plea, and he focused on the answer with the intensity of a drowning man.

Yuuri hugged him close and he wasn’t speaking and why were their cheeks wet?

Yuri clung to lucidity. “Victor—?”

The silver fall of hair couldn’t hide the tears in Victor’s eyes. “Otabek’s dying.”

A burst of sunlight in his chest, radiating from his heart, searing him. Burning him alive.

He fought. He clawed for freedom. Solid latch against his hand. He flung open the door. Slipped out of Yuuri’s and Victor’s grasp. Hurled himself forward, hit the ground and rolled. The van screeched to a halt as he found his feet. The vibration rose again, faster this time, hotter and brighter, and he turned, focusing to find where it was purest, where it no longer tried to shake him apart. There, toward _that_ building.

He ran.


	13. Qui Donne Naissance aux Irresponsables

Otabek panted and wiped blood from his cheek with a forearm, eyes trained on the strigoii closing in around him and Emil. They stood alone in a circle of carnage. Bodies littered the ground, strigoii cut down as they attacked. Behind him, Emil pressed closer, his back against Otabek’s.

He didn’t know how long they’d been fighting. He knew his body ached. His legs trembled, he felt the cooling tackiness of drying blood from various small cuts and scratches. He hadn’t been bitten, but the longer they kept this up, the more likely he was to make a mistake and offer an opening for that kind of injury. He knew he was running out of weapons. He had a silver-wire-wrapped stake and two blades left. The rest of his arsenal was either destroyed from overuse or hidden in the piles of bodies, blades buried into bone or lost in decomposing chest cavities. Emil was down to a single knife.

Three of the enemy rushed them. Emil tried to brace himself, but in his exhaustion, his knees buckled and threw him off balance. Otabek felt it and twisted, levering Emil towards the single strigoii, so he could face the other two. One raked a set of jagged nails down his arm. He grimaced at the sensation of broken fingernails catching and jerking down the leather, but managed to avoid the monster’s grip. He struck out with one knife, cutting cleaning through the putrid tissue until the edge grated along the bone. The strigoii felt no pain, was undeterred by the damage he inflicted, but his cut had a different intention. The second monster had lunged forward and by slicing through the first’s arm, he was able to deliver a fatal blow, severing the brain stem with a vicious stab from the front.

One threat eliminated, he turned his attention to the second, who continued to snap and paw at him. He forced it back with his forearm, managing a half a breath’s space, and shifted his grip on the knife. Another slice, this one to the eyes. When the strigoii hissed and shook its head, he took advantage of the moment to slice across the back of the neck, his carefully honed edge sliding between the vertebrae to cut the spinal cord. Kill made, he began to withdraw his weapon as the body fell. Emil slammed into him and the blade bit into the bone. He gave one last frantic tug to pull it free, but the chance was lost.

One blade left.

“Sorry,” Emil gasped, clutching at his side. His grip on the handle of his knife was weak, but he still had a weapon. The slowly spreading stain on his shirt was worrying though.

Otabek grunted, but didn’t waste his breath with a response. They were both at fault. True, Emil had rushed in, obsessed with tracking the vampire and missing the signs of an ambush. But Otabek had been stuck in his own thoughts and hadn’t made the call to retreat, which he should have. He’d seen these creatures in action with Yuri and should have known how easily Emil could have been overwhelmed. After all, even Yuri had struggled to escape them …

_Don't. Don’t think of him now._

“Can you see any more?” Emil asked.

Through the haze of adrenaline and self-loathing, Otabek managed a glance around. “No.”

Years in the field had honed his ability to make split-second decisions. There were no strigoii in immediate striking distance, although the undulating shadows sneaking closer from the distance warned that their break would be short-lived. He was whole, had weapons, and was the more experienced fighter.

He slid the stake in at the band of Emil’s pants, ensuring it fit snugly at the small of his back. “Go. Warn the Brotherhood. I’ll hold them here.”

“But you’ll die—”

There it was. The ugly, inevitable truth. Some tiny part of him was terrified to face the consequences of his actions, to face the results of decisions made out of pride and hatred and, eventually, apathy. But mostly, he was relieved to finally face the end. At least this way he’d die protecting someone. At least this way he’d go out doing something worthwhile. “So be it.”

Emil shook his head in vehement denial of Otabek’s response. “No. It can’t end that way.”

The shadows were gaining form, were closing the distance that offered the meager chance for his fellow hunter’s escape. “Go.”

“You spoke to our class once. It was a few months after what happened in Almaty.” Emil held his gaze, determined and with far too much hero-worship for Otabek’s taste. “We asked you to tell us the most important lesson you’d learned from hunting. Do you remember what you said?”

Otabek frowned, compressing his lips to a flat line. This was a waste of time. Emil would die if he didn’t flee.

“You told us, _Don_ _’t forget what it is you want._ That was it.”

And like that, he was back in that quiet, partially darkened room, facing a bevy of new recruits. They were a sea of eager faces, despite the news of his failure in protecting his family. If anything, the tragedy had made him even more impressive. The Brotherhood had used it to elevate him to a status of martyrdom, casting him in the role of an orphaned holy warrior devout to the cause. That illusion couldn’t be farther from the truth. When a reticent young man asked him the question, Otabek had answered on instinct. If he’d been a good hunter, his mind would have been filled with thoughts of the Brotherhood, of purity and belief. But the only thing he’d thought of were the bloodied faces of his family and the all-consuming, burning need for revenge.

“Brother Altin,” Emil said, unafraid of their imminent deaths, “what _do_ you want?”

 _Yuri._ The pang of regret that hit left him dizzy.

“It’s not too late.” Emil’s voice was low and urgent and Otabek didn’t understand what he meant. “At least, for you, it isn’t.”

He could hear the vibrating hums of the new strigoii, the creatures coming to fill their emptied ranks. Their advance was unimportant now, so familiar and expected that he didn’t need to put active attention toward it. The flash of movement near Emil was different. It wasn’t until he heard the yelp of pain that he realized he’d thrown his knife. The instinctual response left him weaponless, but there, mere yards away, lay the shuddering form of the vampire they’d been chasing. The silver knife was firmly embedded in his thigh and he raged as he tried to pull it free, his skin sizzling as the precious metal burned into him.

They could finish it now. Emil rushed forward, forgoing his knife for the stake. The stake raised, began to descend, and the vampire turned to face his hunter.

“Mickey? Y-you’re dead.” Emil froze and Otabek’s heart stopped.

He recognized the look on his partner’s face. The shock, the pain, the rawness. It was the expression of a man whose world had just ended without his knowledge. It was the look he’d seen on his own face in the shattered mirror hanging in the hall of his childhood home after he’d discovered the bodies of his father, his mother, his sisters.

None of that mattered. Act now. Suffer later.

“Emil!” Otabek roared, lunging towards the two men, praying he got there in time to act before their prey vanished again.

Kill the vampire, kill the strigoii. Kill the vampire, stay alive. Stay alive, find the answer to Emil’s question. An answer he already knew, but wasn’t brave enough to say aloud yet.

He was three steps away. The vampire—Mickey—ripped the knife free of his leg and sent it clattering across the crumbling pavement. Emil’s hand wavered. The vampire used his mercy to its advantage, scrambling back and rising to escape again. Otabek adjusted his line, forcing his clumsy legs to push him faster, and moved past a pile of strigoii corpses so he could cut off the vampire’s route.

He should have known it was a trap. The vampire’s head turned. He hissed and strigoii burst from under the pile of bodies.

The world slowed to flashes.

Emil’s screamed warning. The sheen of saliva on rotting teeth. Nails digging into his leg. Shredding the arm of his jacket. His flesh, tan and whole, rent open as the strigoii bit down. Pain. More pain than his body understood.

The answer pounding through him in time to the frantic beat of his pulse as it pushed his blood out of his body. _I want to live. I want to live. I want to live. I_ must _live for him._

And nothing.

 

*****

 

He ran toward the building, Victor and Yuuri and Yakov chasing after him. A moment later, he was on the ground, knees and hands scraped, dry heaving because pure light had exploded behind his eyes and he was blind or shattered or dying. He didn’t care. Pain was only pain. It would pass. Yuri forced himself up, weaving as he took his feet and feeling strangely light, like that time he’d gotten back up after he’d missed a jump while ice skating with his grandpa. The hum had vanished and his heart lurched.

“Yuri!”

He ignored the call and pushed forward. Running was easier. Fear lent him speed. Fear lent him purpose. And purpose redefined him.

He skidded around the corner just in time to see Otabek’s limp form lifted between the jaws of two strigoii, one at his arm, the other clamped down on his leg. Fury, white-hot and purifying, flooded his veins. His fangs extended, his muscles tensed, and he launched himself forward with a growl that shook the ground. He was on the closest creature before it could release Otabek. He raked his nails down its back, ripping away chunks of flesh. It reared back and—thank whatever god watches over hunters—released Otabek to the jaws of its compatriot, who lost its grip when Yuuri crashed into it. Otabek fell to the ground, but he was momentarily out of danger. Only when that was clear did Yuri give in to the animal.

Thick, tarry blood tasting of death. Powerful body twisting in a desperate, vain effort to dislodge him. He wrapped his legs around its waist, tightened his grip on its neck. Bared his fangs and bit as deeply as he could into the back of its neck. He scraped along the bone, raised his face, spat out the flesh. Again and again, ignoring the strigoii’s battle for freedom, the way its claws shredded his pants, tore strips of skin from his legs. He’d heal. But when he was done, this creature wouldn’t have that option.

A final bite. He wrapped his teeth around the spinal column. Twisted his head with the viciousness Victor had always praised him for. Bones crunched, broke, flaked. Twisted his head the opposite direction. The cord frayed, snapped, broke.

With a cry of triumph, he spat away the chunk of spinal column and cord in his mouth and jumped free of the strigoii’s crumbling body.

Feet away, Yuuri dispatched his. Yakov dragged an injured, young hunter toward them. Victor was nowhere in sight.

Yuri ignored Yakov’s captive, who watched them all with wide eyes. _Otabek. How was Otabek?_

His lover lay on the ground, shuddering with pain. His skin was ashen, sweat beading over his face and chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt, which was stained with blood and ichor. His muscles spasmed and locked again and again with increasing intensity. But the bites … jagged openings in his flesh which weeped crimson tears. The scent was overwhelming, Otabek’s blood mingled with the wrongness of the strigoii. Yuri ineffectually tried to stop the bleeding with his hands, but as more blood leaked onto the ground, his panic rose.

He didn’t know he was keening _no_ over and over until Yuuri gripped his shoulder and knelt at his side, his touch alone somehow halting the flow of the denial. The Japanese man swore—a brutal, foul oath in Russian—and Yakov took a concerned step toward them.

“We need to get him home,” Yuuri warned. “My kit won’t be enough.”

“The van,” Yakov said in agreement. “We’ll take this one too.”

Yuuri glanced to the side when footsteps pounded their way back to the small group. Yuri ignored it. The pig could check on Victor himself. He needed to get Otabek to the van.

Yuri slid an arm under Otabek’s chest and began lifting him, but Otabek’s body seized again. His eyes rolled back, his teeth gritted together, and he clutched at his arm, where the torn sleeve of his jacket exposed the bite. Yuri wondered if it was possible to die with him, if their connection would allow him to share the same agony. A connection he feared might be broken.

The tears filling his vision made Victor’s form wobble as the man knelt and lifted Otabek for Yuri.

“No,” he croaked past the tightness in his throat. “I should—”

“Yurochka,” Victor murmured, “I’ve got him. You need to stop your own bleeding.”

He finally looked at his legs, which had been throbbing dully. Oh. That’s why. The strigoii had been stronger than he’d expected, since some of the cuts went down to the bone. If he’d been eating well, the wounds would be knitting themselves back together. Instead, there was simply the sluggish lessening of blood trickling down into his shoes.

The return to the van was a blur. Minami met them partway and they sped back to the nest, the back of the van turned into a simplified ambulance. Yuuri worked on Otabek while Yakov tended to Yuri’s legs. He tuned out the lecture and threats and focused on the puddle growing toward his shoes. Otabek was dying in front of his eyes and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“Vitya, there’s no choice.”

Yuri blinked and read in an instant the drama he’d momentarily retreated from. Yuuri and Victor stared at each other across Otabek’s supine form. Victor’s fangs were bared, his handsome face darkened with anger, but he wasn’t arguing.

“Yakov, you’ll need to hold me back,” Victor warned.

Yakov—who clearly had been listening, unlike Yuri—abandoned his charge and joined Victor, wrapping him in a deceptive hug that Yuri knew wouldn’t break, no matter Victor’s attempts to escape it.

“What are you doing?” Yuri asked, wincing when he tried to move his legs, which had finally stopped bleeding but still hadn’t closed.

Yuuri was the embodiment of professional detachment. “We’re too far from the nest. I’m giving him some of my blood.”

Victor growled at the same time Yuri snapped, “No! He drinks from _me_ , not _you_ —”

“Yura,” Yakov said, his tone brooking no argument, “this is the only way. Katsuki won’t turn him.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ It was true. Their Russian trio were born vampires. Only Yuuri’s blood would meet Otabek’s needs now. Yuri swallowed hard, pushing down at the possessive rage coiling in his gut as he watched Yuuri use a fang to nick open his wrist. Victor strained against Yakov’s hold, panting and whining, incapable of tearing his gaze from his mate’s ministrations to another man. Yuri joined Yakov, but didn’t attempt to hold Victor. Instead, he knelt in front of his mentor, hissing when the bumps in the road made his injuries blaze back to life. He pressed his forehead to Victor’s, breathed with him, threaded his hands through Victor’s hair, and held his face so he couldn’t see Yuuri or Otabek. It seemed only fair to keep his back to the scene, trapped in the same ignorance as Victor.

A leap of faith for them both.

“Thank you,” he whispered, holding Victor’s gaze. Behind him, he could hear Yuuri ordering the other hunter to lift Otabek up so he wouldn’t choke. Victor made a strangled noise, but didn’t look away from Yuri, doing his best to stay grounded instead of flying into a defense of his mate.

“Thank you,” into the silence that grew tighter and tighter. Tears spilled down Victor’s cheeks.

“Thank you,” whispered like a benediction when there came a hoarse, pained cough from behind and Yuuri’s soothing voice telling Otabek to stay with them, to stay awake, to drink deeply.

He continued to say it long after Yuuri gave the all clear. Victor pressed a kiss to his forehead before rushing back to Yuuri, snarling and snapping and feeding from his mate’s wrist almost immediately, even as he bared his own neck so Yuuri could feed. Yuri didn’t feel the normal jealousy or disgust at their actions. He was too busy staring at Otabek, whose color had managed to lift to pallid instead of deathly, and whose blood loss was slowing and stopping. For some reason, he felt nervous to reach out and entangle their fingers. That didn’t stop him though.

Phichit, Sara, and Milla were waiting at the nest when they drove up. Sara paled at the sight of the second young hunter, but whatever business existed between them would be dealt with later. Milla ran ahead into the nest to prepare the kitchen table like Yuuri ordered. Yakov kept the hunter in his grip as Victor and Yuuri wrestled Otabek from the van. Yuri stayed with them, clutching Otabek’s hand and willing him to live. They left Minami behind to park the van, along with Phichit, who would close up the nest once Minami was safely inside.

Yuri was grateful Yakov had demanded them to find an oversized table when they first moved in. He used to hate that they were sometimes forced to eat meals together. He’d never question that again. If it weren’t for that family tradition, Otabek wouldn’t have been able to lay fully supported while Yuuri moved around the room and collected his medical supplies. Victor rolled up his shirtsleeves and began washing his hands, already moving to supplement his mate’s efforts with that silent understanding which existed between them alone.

“What are you going to do to him?” Yuri asked when Yuuri finished setting out his supplies and began washing his hands in earnest.

“My blood helped slow the bleeding. But with strigoii we need to worry about infection. We need to get it all cleaned out before the blood finishes kicking in fully.”

He was so caught up in the sight of Yuuri cleaning the bites he didn’t react to Phichit until he put a hand on his shoulder. Yuri twisted his head to the side and glared at the Thai man. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while.” Phichit frowned, glancing down at Yuri’s injuries. “You need to feed.”

“I’m not leaving,” Yuri said dismissively, turning back to watch Otabek.

“Either you feed now, or I’m kicking you out of this room,” Yuuri said as he worked on rinsing a particularly deep puncture. Across the table, Victor raised a silver brow, prepared to enforce Yuuri’s ultimatum.

He was not going to leave until he knew Otabek was out of danger. Yuri reached blindly for Phichit, who offered up his wrist without a word. His fangs pierced the flesh and he took long, deep drags on the vein, his eyes never leaving Otabek’s form even as he betrayed the man’s most honest request. _Only me._

 _Only you_ , Yuri promised in his mind. It was easy to release Phichit and thank him quietly for the blood. Everyone—by now they’d all congregated in the room—seemed surprised by his passivity. He didn’t care. He just stood there, watching Yuuri put Otabek together bit by bit. Watching Otabek’s skin warm and darken to its natural coloring as Yuuri’s blood continued its work. Watched as the wounds healed to livid pink marks. Watched as Otabek’s shudders grew fewer and far between and stopped entirely. Eventually, the man lay there in quiet repose, his breathing even and his healing wounds covered lightly in squares of gauze.

“He’ll make it,” Yuuri said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. He rolled his shoulders, grimacing a little, and glanced at Yuuri. “I’m assuming we should move him to your room?”

“Да,” Yuri said. He caught a flash of surprise on Yuuri’s face when he reached for the man and hugged him tightly, burying his face into his neck. “Спасибо,” he muttered. “Спасибо, Yuuri.”

He followed Victor and Minami while they moved Otabek to his room. He accepted their help, thanked them, and shooed them away, closing his door behind them. He didn’t care about returning to the main area, where Yakov and Sara and the young hunter were starting what was sure to be an awkward conversation. He gave himself a moment to step close to the bed and run his fingers down Otabek’s arm. The warmth reassured him that Otabek was still here, alive and safe. A little more secure with that knowledge, he slipped quietly into his bathroom and gave in to the nausea he’d felt since feeding from Phichit.

He didn’t make it to the toilet, but he turned on the water in the sink and heaved into it as quietly as he could manage. He was nearly done, gagging on the last mouthful of foam and spit when the door to his room opened unexpectedly. The ground opened up beneath his feet. Phichit stood there, vaguely back-lit from the hall, holding the remnants of Otabek’s shirt and jacket in his hands.

Yuri wiped a hand over his mouth, not bothering to shut off the sink, and held Phichit's horrified gaze. "Don't tell anyone, please," he whispered. 

“What the fuck?” Phichit shut the door behind him and crossed to Yuri. He glanced at the sink, the lightening crimson staining the aged porcelain, and his hands clenched around the wadded fabric. “How long?”

“It’s not—”

“How _long_ , Yuri?”

Phichit didn’t yell. He didn’t raise his voice ever, come to think of it. And he certainly didn’t sound like he wanted to cause Yuri physical harm. Except now.

An invisible weight settled on his shoulders, forcing his head to hang down as he attempted to hold his body up against the crushing weight of disappointment and guilt. “Since the fight at your work.”

“But … you’ve _fed_ …” Phichit trailed off. “You lied about finding donors.”

“They’ve been giving me bagged blood instead.”

“Damnit, Yuri, it’s not the same and you know it!”

He did know it. He didn’t care.

“Yuri—” Phichit’s hand against his cheek was warm, but he couldn’t bear to look up and see Phichit’s pity. “Please don’t tell me it was for _him._ The bond isn’t even there anymore!”

“If that’s what you don’t want to hear, don’t ask the question,” Yuri mumbled as he shut off the sink, too tired and drained to deal with this.

Phichit shoved the clothes against Yuri’s stomach and stalked from the bathroom. He glared at the unconscious man on Yuri’s bed as he passed and, for a moment, Yuri worried he’d have to keep Phichit from attacking Otabek. His friend was better than that though. He went to the door and opened it. He was halfway out of the room when Yuri gathered enough bravery to call to him, “Please, Phichit, this is … private.”

“Everyone is worried about you. You know that, right?” Phichit asked, but he kept his gaze trained on his shoes. “How the hell am I supposed to keep this secret?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that. It wouldn’t be fair.” Phichit growled something about that being too fucking right, so Yuri pressed on quickly, “I guess, just don’t offer it freely? If someone asks, tell the truth and I’ll deal with the consequences. And if not …”

“It’s still lying, Yuri.”

“But it’s _my_ lie, not yours.”

The silence stretched on, a thin wire Yuri was sure would snap. Phichit was his friend, one of the few, but this wasn’t like asking him for blood or information on a new hunter. This was deeply, painfully personal and it left Yuri exposed and vulnerable in a new way he was all too aware of.

“I need to think about it,” was the response that finally came and Yuri had the good sense to thank Phichit as he left the room, closing the door securely behind him.

Finally alone, Yuri heaved a sigh of relief. He set the torn garments on his dresser and stripped, deciding on wearing a loose pair of boxers and an over-sized shirt. It felt weird to be naked beside Otabek when he was injured and unconscious. He took down one of his spare blankets, an ancient, nearly threadbare one that had belonged to his grandpa, and covered Otabek with it. He took care to ensure the bandages wouldn’t catch if Otabek moved under it. Once he was sure his lover was cared for, he could no longer avoid the inevitable.

He settled in beside Otabek, curling his body as close as he dared, and watched the steady rise and fall of the man’s bare and bandaged chest. He didn’t know how Phichit had learned the news, but it was true. The bond was gone. At some point he’d have to unpack that fact and attempt to process it. But not tonight. Tonight, he would keep watch and ignore that Otabek had been willing to choose death over accepting Yuri’s love.

He reached out and ran his fingers over Otabek’s forehead, pushing back his dark hair. He traced the plane of Otabek’s cheek. He brushed his thumb over Otabek’s lips. To his surprise, Otabek’s eyelids fluttered. The man’s head listed towards him and he found himself holding a glassy, unfocused gaze.

“Yuri,” the man rasped.

He pressed a finger over Otabek’s lips, silencing him. “You’re safe,” he whispered. “You need to rest.”

Otabek sucked in a pained breath and squeezed his eyes shut. A tear spilled from the corner of his eye and danced its way down his skin. “Stay?”

“Yes.” He rested his head on Otabek’s uninjured shoulder. “I’ll stay with you,” he lied, heart aching when those soft words put Otabek back to sleep.

They were safe here in his room, sheltered from the realities of the world outside. Tonight, they could cling to those beautiful illusions. And tomorrow … Well, tomorrow would arrive soon enough.


	14. That Secret That We Know That We Don’t Know How to Tell

Opening his eyes was a herculean task. He didn’t think he’d been crying, but his lashes were crusted together as they’d been in those initial days after his family’s massacre when there was nothing he could do but sob himself to sleep. When he managed to part his eyelids and try to take in his surroundings, he was surprised to find himself in a comforting shell of darkness.

Otabek kept his breathing low and steady, slowly cataloging the aches and pains of his body. He didn’t feel as bad as he should, which worried him. Either he’d been unconscious for too long or his injuries were bad enough that his body wasn’t processing them. He should have cared more, but his concerns faded with the realization that the room wasn’t completely dark. The only illumination came from the blue light of Yuri’s phone. Otabek didn’t move, enraptured by the sight of the vampire lying at his side.

Yuri normally sparked with life, with energy. Now, he lay in quiet repose, his eyes and fingers flicking over the screen, but the rest of his body slumped onto the mattress. His blond hair was loose, which meant it streamed around his head in messy tendrils. Shadowed smudges bloomed under his eyes and gave away his exhaustion. But he was there.

“Yuri,” he said. Well, tried to say. His throat was dry and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he ended up making some kind of choked exhalation instead, but Yuri heard it.

“Hey,” Yuri murmured, taking care as he turned to face Otabek. He rested his weight on an elbow, which put him a few inches higher. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” he croaked.

“Well, you almost died, so I guess you’re allowed.”

“Where are we?”

Yuri reached behind him and clicked on a lamp, illuminating more of the room. Otabek recognized it instantly, mind flashing back to the pictures Yuri had texted him before everything went to shit. Yuri gestured around them. “The nest. It was the easiest solution.”

“Emil?”

He chuckled at the expression of disgust that momentarily graced Yuri’s face. Too bad his ribs pulled and pain rolled through him, turning the amusement to misery without warning.

Yuri pressed fingertips to the center of his forehead and pressed gently. “Knock it off, you moron. If Emil is your partner, he’s fine. Yakov and the others are with him.”

“How long?”

“Don’t worry. Your hunter friend already called in and made up some excuse for you two about having to hole up after the fight.”

Immediate concern assuaged, he let Yuri fuss over him for a while. There was something endearing about the way Yuri readjusted the blanket, checked his bandages, and occasionally stopped just to skim his fingers over Otabek’s skin. Knowing that Yuri was just as overcome as he to be together again, both still alive, made it easier to bear the dull pain in his leg and arm. He tried to move so he could cuddle against Yuri, but the vampire swore and demanded he not move.

“Curl up with me,” Otabek requested.

The wrinkled nose he received in response was not the answer he wanted. “You smell like death warmed over,” Yuri said. “Shower first.”

“Are you going to get in with me?” Yuri gaped and Otabek wanted to punch himself. Flirtatious remarks after weeks of not speaking was not a good idea. “Blood loss. That’s the blood loss talking,” he lied. He forced himself up off the bed despite his body’s protests, desperate to avoid Yuri’s expression. “Bathroom?”

Silence. He wavered from his seat on the edge of the mattress, wondering if his legs would hold his body’s weight when he stood. He heard a soft slide across the bed and the padding of feet moving closer. He didn’t look up, but to his left he could see Yuri’s long, pale legs marked with angry red lines, the clothes he’d thrown on to sleep in, and the nervous twitches of his hands where they hung at his sides.

He was so surprised when Yuri crouched in front of him that he made the stupid mistake of holding his gaze. There was sadness there, but a great deal of amusement and fondness too.

“I’ll help you get to the shower and I’ll hang around long enough to make sure you don’t pass out. But that’s it.”

He was pretty sure Yuri meant it, so he nodded and accepted a proffered hand. Yuri was true to his word. He got the water running at a comfortable temperature, set out a fresh towel, and stood outside the open door while Otabek shucked what remained of his stained clothes. The exertion didn’t leave him dizzy, but the slow drag of his muscles meant he didn’t have many reserves left. He got into the shower and moaned when the hot water hit him.

“You okay?” Yuri asked.

“Yeah. Feels good.”

Yuri made a hum of agreement and returned to the bathroom. His voice echoed around the small space, a soothing distraction while Otabek washed himself with soap he tried hard not to smell too loudly. “I was so beat I forgot to shower before I crawled into bed. When I woke up a few hours later, I really regretted that.”

“You’re not hurt?” Otabek asked as he rinsed off the last of the suds. He mentally kicked himself for not checking Yuri for signs of injury once he knew that he was out of danger himself.

“Nothing that won’t heal with time.”

He frowned under the stream of water, despite Yuri’s inability to see it. His own bandages were peeling off under the onslaught of the wet and the heat and he didn’t want the drain to get clogged, so he finished removing them himself. “How the fuck am I almost healed?” he asked, shocked at the sight that met his eyes.

“You were bleeding out,” Yuri said. “Katsuki gave you a little of his blood to keep you alive.”

The dry neutrality of Yuri’s voice is what made him shut off the water, ignoring his body’s urges to stay there longer. He tugged the shower curtain partially open and peered out at Yuri. The vampire’s arms were crossed over his chest, his chin tucked down, and he stared at a spot on the floor with far too much intensity. It seemed cruelly unfair that it wasn’t Yuri he’d shared that intimate connection with. He understood why; only born vampires could turn others. Still, it was another regret, another layer of distance, he’d inadvertently created between them.

“Thank you for coming for me,” Otabek said.

Yuri roused himself, made a face, and tossed the towel over. He kept his eyes averted as Otabek dried off, but there was a faint blush in his cheeks that he didn’t bother to hide. Otabek wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out onto the small, thin rug. Yuri gave him a quick once-over while he threw away the bandages. He shuddered a little when Yuri reached out and traced his hand along the bite marks.

“They’re healing well,” he noted. His gaze flicked up to Otabek’s face. “But you still look tired.”

“So do you.”

The blush darkened and Yuri tilted his head, hiding a little behind that pale blond curtain of hair.

“And good.” Otabek struggled for words when faced with Yuri’s quizzical glance. Nothing came, except the truth. “You always look good,” Otabek said softly, reaching up and combing his fingers through Yuri’s hair.

The intimacy was tolerated for a too-brief moment before Yuri stepped away. He cleared his throat and pointed at his dresser. “I don’t know what’ll fit you, but take whatever you want.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta let the pig know you’re awake. He’ll want to see how you’re doing.”

Something was off. Granted, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but Yuri had come to find Otabek. Had rescued him. Surely, if he had given up on them completely, he would have let Otabek die. He certainly didn’t owe Otabek, or any other hunter for that matter, anything. He mused over the change in behavior while he searched Yuri’s clothes for anything that might work. He settled on a pair of sweats. The t-shirts he tried were all a little too snug for his injuries, and there weren’t any hoodies large enough, so he gave up and decided to go bare chested. Maybe he could borrow something from Katsuki …

He left Yuri’s room, half-expecting to see the blond hanging outside the door. There was no one in sight though. He wandered the labyrinthine halls for a while before he heard the sound of music from farther off. He followed it, weaving this way and that, sometimes crossing over his path, but eventually discovering a larger passage leading into a room that looked like it was used for some kind of workout space. He continued to pass through the living areas, putting together a mental map of the nest, noting the way Yuri’s family spread out their space to try to grant what privacy they could in an underground shelter.

He found the source of the music in the kitchen, which seemed to serve as a centralized point in the warren. Emil sat at the large table, looking more than a little shell-shocked, while the laptop nearby blared cheery music from some soundtrack. Emil started when he saw Otabek, hitting his hip on the table from how fast he rose.

He paused the music and stared. “Otabek, you’re—”

“Alive,” he confirmed. “You’re okay?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Emil tilted his head toward one of the doors leading out of the kitchen. “Phichit—he’s one of their human friends—went to get me some pain killers.” He managed a half-hearted grin at Otabek’s concern. “Brother Katsuki already fixed my wound. It was superficial. But I want to stop the headache before it gets worse.”

“You spoke with Katsuki?”

“And Victor. And Yakov.” Emil shook his head. “There’s been a lot to take in.”

“I have no doubt. Thanks for covering with our handlers.”

His partner nodded, face set with determined lines. “We need to talk and decide what to do. You don’t know a lot about—”

The door to the kitchen swung open and Otabek stared at the attractive man who entered, tossing a bottle of pills to Emil. “You?”

The man stopped cold, watching Otabek with the same wariness. “So … you’re awake.”

“You’re the guy from the construction site.”

“Otabek,” Emil said, “this is Phichit.”

It was like his mouth disconnected from his brain. “You’re the asshole Yuri was going to feed from.”

If Phichit found him threatening, he gave no sign of it. If anything, his glower intensified and he took a step toward Otabek. “And you’re the asshole who keeps fucking up his life.”

He flexed his hands, spreading out his fingers, forcing himself to relax instead of prepare for a fight. Rising adrenaline would do a lot to mask the consequences of his injuries, but the crash afterward would knock him out again for a while. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he started to growl.

Phichit cut him off though. “Do have any idea what you’ve done?” the man demanded.

Emil squeaked out some request for calm, only to be ignored by both of them.

_Breathe. He_ _’s Yuri’s friend._ “I haven’t done anything.”

“He isn’t feeding, Altin.”

His world crashed around him. “What?”

“Yuri. Isn’t. Feeding. He’s starving to death and not healing because you’re a jealous bastard who asked him not to feed from anyone else.” Phichit’s hands clenched to fists and he shook, clearly holding himself back from throwing a punch. “You don’t understand what that does to a vampire.”

“He looks fine,” Otabek said weakly.

Phichit gave a hollow laugh. “He’s good at putting on a show, I’ll give him that. But blood bags only last so long. And his nightmares are back—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Fuck this. You don’t deserve to hear about him.”

It was over before Otabek knew what happened. Emil dragged his back, yammering in his ear. He shrugged him off without effort. Phichit lay on the floor at Otabek’s feet, lip bloodied, but unafraid. A sharp cutting pain settled in his knuckles. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe. And he was pretty sure the shivering behind his ribs was his heart breaking again and again. A red-headed woman ran in, a dark-haired beauty behind her. They only needed one look to assess the situation.

“You didn’t,” the red-head begged Phichit.

He said nothing, just held Otabek’s gaze with a furious glare. “He should know the truth.”

“Yuri’s going to kill you,” the dark-haired woman whispered.

“At least he’ll be fed.” Phichit arched a brow and waited for Otabek to complain or argue. When he didn’t, the man gave a single, curt nod. “And now _he_ can’t claim ignorance when Yuri goes off the deep end.”

Sucking in more air was a feat when the blood rushed from Otabek’s head in a single, dizzying rush. The backs of his knees tingled and Emil stepped forward, holding out a hand to steady him. He waved him off, unable to tear his eyes from Phichit.

“That’s what will happen,” Phichit continued, ignoring the hissed whispers to stop that the women both hurled at him. “He’ll lose control and you’ll have to hunt the Ice Tiger. You’ll have to drive a stake through his heart and watch that life leave his eyes and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

Nothing but an empty buzz in the back of his head. Hadn’t he imagined that moment before? Imagined the battle and the pain and the moment of truth when he did his job, obeyed the Brotherhood’s orders, and killed a bloodthirsty monster? It all rang so true, except for the stillness deep inside. _Don_ _’t forget what it is you want._

Otabek closed his eyes, tried to remember his mission, his revenge. Couldn’t. Could only remember the flash of pale skin, the swing of golden hair, green eyes that made him fall apart. He pressed a hand to his chest, wondering why the pain there wouldn’t go away, why it was settling in with a dull throb, reverberating his pulse up into his throat until he couldn’t swallow past that tightness.

“Altin,” a sweet voice said.

He looked up, found the red-head’s image wavering, and blinked, surprised when moisture spilled down his cheeks.

Her voice was soft and aching with sorrow. “If you can’t give him this, give him up. Please. Don’t take my brother from me.”

“I—” Words failed. He failed.

“Hey, Altin, the pig says to come by his room and—”

Of course, Yuri had to come into the room at that moment. He took in the scene and Otabek’s stomach pitched when he saw the glassy emerald gaze snap and sharpen, all the details laid out so plainly for anyone to read. Yuri’s expression shuttered and he took a long, deep breath before he turned from his family to face Otabek.

Otabek said nothing, simply flicked his eyes up and down Yuri’s body. Yuri’s shoulders tightened and, for the first time, Otabek noticed the deepening shadows of his collarbone. The higher arch of his cheek. The tendons flexing closely under the skin of his hand. The way his boxers hung loose on his hips.

Otabek flushed with shame.

“Fuck you all. Especially you, hamster.” Yuri turned and stalked away from them.

It might have been a death wish, but he hurried after Yuri, calling his name all the way down the halls until they were nearly back at his room. He managed to get his foot in the doorway before Yuri could force him out of that small, private space and snuck his way inside, wincing a little when his arm scraped the doorjamb. “So it’s true? Why’d you stop feeding?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and dug around a set of drawers for pants, uncaring about the mess he made pulling out every possible article of clothing and discarding it over his shoulder. “I felt like it.”

“Yuri, _is_ it because of what I said before? About us—”

The fact that Yuri was stripping in front of him after all their earlier awkwardness was a sign of his anger and desire to escape. “Why do you care? Besides, it doesn’t matter.”

The frustration simmering in his gut boiled over. “Our _bond_ matters,” he argued.

“What bond?” Yuri snapped, flushing an angry red. He pulled on his pants with vicious intent, glaring at the floor the entire time. “The bond you _broke_?”

He took an unsteady step closer. “What?”

“I _felt_ it break. It …” He swallowed hard. “I’m sure that’s what death must feel like.” Yuri gave up on the zipper and buttons of the pants and reached for a shirt. He gripped it tightly in his hands, wringing the fabric and still not looking at Otabek. When he spoke again, his words were sharp enough to draw blood. “It broke because you _wanted_ to die. Because you gave up.”

There was no arguing the accusation. It was true. In the face of that impossible battle, surrender had become his answer. He swallowed, regretting his brief weakness, and nodded. “For a moment.”

Yuri hissed at the confirmation.

He reached for Yuri’s hand, desperate to touch him and tell him the rest. “A moment,” he repeated, “and then I understood it was a lie. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to leave you here alone. I want _this._ I want _us._ ”

It hurt when his lover moved his hand out of reach. It hurt more when Yuri darted past him and headed toward the door once more.

“Well,” Yuri said, voice breaking a little. “Tough luck, Altin. You lived. And now you get to deal with the fucking consequences.”

“Okay.”

Yuri clearly didn’t expect that response, since his steps faltered and he missed the doorknob he reached for. His shoulders shook and Otabek stepped closer, carefully boxing him in at the door.

“Okay, Yuri. I deserve that.”

He slid Yuri’s hair away from the back of his neck, mesmerized by the way it moved like molten gold. Yuri shivered when Otabek pressed his nose to the sensitive skin of his nape. Made a soft cry when his lips brushed there, lingered, teased.

“Punish me however you want,” Otabek whispered. “But no matter what you do, I’m not leaving you again.”

Yuri’s stiffness, his hesitation, meant he’d heard Otabek. Maybe he didn’t believe him or didn’t want to continue the conversation, but the words were out there now. Otabek had no intention of taking them back. They were some of the first honest words he’d spoken in years. Funny how that only seemed to happen around Yuri.

“I’ve got to go talk to Katsuki,” Yuri muttered and left the room, closing the door in Otabek’s face on his way out.

Otabek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “At least it wasn’t a _fuck off_.”

Progress had been made. He would do this, no matter how long it took.


	15. The Storm is Coming Soon

Yakov found him first. Yuri wasn’t surprised by that, not after what had happened with the hamster and Milla and Sara. What surprised him was that Yakov was alone, instead of accompanied by Victor, or better yet, the pig, both of whom were better at keeping Yuri calm and focused during difficult conversations.

“Yuri, come with me,” Yakov ordered. His gravelly voice gave no hint of anger, simply of concern.

Yuri obeyed, too rattled from his confrontation with Otabek to waste time arguing. He’d rather be anywhere than back at his room. Yakov led him through the nest. At one point, the pig passed, looking thoroughly debauched and grinning like a fool. Yuri pointed at him. “Can you check on Altin? He’s awake.”

Yuuri nodded, but wisely didn’t stop to continue the conversation. Yakov barely slowed for their interaction, intent on getting to the room that served as his office and study. Once he and Yuri were safely there, Yakov closed the door and took a seat in the armchair Victor had found and lugged down into the shelter. The leather monstrosity looked like a throne, probably due to Yakov’s posture and bearing, not the expense of the piece.

“You haven’t been feeding,” Yakov said.

Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but Yakov held up a single hand and pinned him with such a glare that the words died on his tongue.

“I don’t have time for lies, Yurochka,” the master vampire warned. “The situation has moved beyond complicated. We’re on the verge of another war and there is much I must do to ensure the safety of our family. If you intend to remain one of us, you will speak the truth only.”

The idea of being cast out shook him to his core. Sure, he bitched about Victor and his mate and constantly harassed Sara and Milla, but they were his family, dammit. And they hadn’t found Georgi yet and he couldn’t abandon the sappy bastard after everything they’d survived …

“Fine,” Yuri mumbled. He took a shaky breath. “I’ve fed, but I purge after.”

“And blood bags? Our count hasn’t diminished unexpectedly.”

“I’ve found donors who are part of the scene. I’ve supplemented with those.”

Yakov made a quiet noise and leaned back in his chair, thoughtful gaze never leaving Yuri. He squirmed under the attention, wishing he knew what his teacher was thinking.

“You fooled us all,” Yakov finally said. “We failed you.”

Yuri’s fists clenched and, to his disgust, his throat tightened and his eyes began to sting. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. But the bond was so strong and I … I couldn’t break it. Grandpa always said it was the most important thing I’d ever experience.” He dashed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I knew all about him and you and Lilia. He’s the one who taught me how you can be faithful to a bond without hurting someone else. That’s why I did it.”

“Your grandfather was a naive romantic,” Yakov said.

Yuri started, fangs creeping past his gums, fury welling up inside, until he saw the half-smile on Yakov’s face.

“A naive romantic,” Yakov repeated, softer this time, holding Yuri’s stare, “which is the only reason I was fortunate enough to call him my best friend. Most would have left me behind. Nikolai never did.”

Like that, the weight of Yuri’s guilt lifted and he snuffled against his sleeve while Yakov waited for him to regain his composure. Once Yuri had himself back under control, Yakov asked, “He told you about the three of us?”

Yuri nodded. “He said you and Lilia were mated and the three of you traveled Russia together while she performed. One night, behind the theater, a mugger nearly killed her. You took off after him and Grandpa had no choice but to let her feed from him.” Yuri dropped his gaze from Yakov’s open expression to his own lap, where he pressed his fingertips together and apart again and again. “He told me he never intended for her to bond with him, too.”

“That’s true,” Yakov agreed. “He didn’t. He left and gave us time to try to sort ourselves out. By the time he returned, we’d broken our bond and Lilia had gone.”

“But … didn’t it hurt?” Yuri asked cautiously. “When the bond broke?”

Yakov shook his head, expression darkening a little. “It was a mutual decision. The bond had already grown tenuous. It took little to finish the job.”

“I felt like I was going to die,” Yuri whispered.

“That’s because you’re in love with the hunter.”

All the blood in his body rushed to his face, leaving him with a flush so deep he could only attempt to hide it by letting his hair fall in front of his face.

Yakov sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man who had been too burdened throughout his life. “First Georgi, then Vitya, then Milla, now you. I must have done something wrong if all my children bond this strongly to their mates.”

“Or,” Yuri hedged, “maybe you did something right?”

The old vampire scowled, but Yuri knew from the twinkle in his eye that there was no true heat behind the expression. “Maybe.” He leaned forward intently and Yuri knew instantly that the other shoe was about to drop. “You still acted irrationally and irresponsibly. If we had not been there with you, the strigoii would have killed you and your hunter and his friend. You’ve allowed yourself to weaken because of Nikolai’s ideology. You have a clean slate now, Yuri. That’s rare. But I realize your heart is spoken for, even if the bond hasn’t been recreated. I need to know if you’ll again allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. You can either leave this fascination behind you, or accept it and find a healthy way to deal with that decision.”

Yuri wanted to blow up, to demand Yakov not stick his nose in private business, but he knew that Yakov’s point was valid. Everything was so tangled in his head and his heart hurt. The best response he could give was, “I’ll try.”

“Try with haste. The other hunter, Emil Nekola, was informed about Michele’s involvement. He agreed to help us without hesitation.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Yuri asked.

Yakov shook his head. “That’s for Milla to explain to you. Once Katsuki says that Altin is strong enough to hear the truth, we’ll share it with him. No matter his decision, there will be no going back from that point.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Yakov pointed toward the door. “You should find Katsuki. The sooner we can talk to Altin, the sooner we can plan for Michele and the Brotherhood’s attacks.”

*****

Even though he knew in his heart it wouldn’t be Yuri, Otabek still looked up eagerly when the door to the room swung open. He knew he hid his disappointment poorly, since Yuuri laughed as he carried his bag in.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” the man remarked. “Yuri said you were awake and I wanted to check in on you while I could.”

Otabek managed to smile back at the older vampire as he crossed the room. “Thank you for all your help.” He trained his gaze on Yuuri’s neck rather than his face and added, “I know your blood is the only reason I’m still alive.”

Yuuri shrugged, a graceful movement, and knelt beside the bed, gesturing for Otabek to hold out his arm for inspection. “Consider us even.”

He didn’t have to ask what Yuuri meant. That last night in Russia, when he’d discovered Victor’s escape and Yuuri’s traitorous assistance, he’d been the one to chase them to the last corridor of the Brotherhood’s facility. He’d been the one forced to make the split-second decision of who to aim the silver-infused crossbow bolt at as they fled, the security doors slamming closed behind them.

Looking back at it now, safe in the vampires’ nest and reeling from an attack that nearly took his life, Otabek could finally accept some small truths he’d chosen to ignore or rationalize away. He could have aimed at Victor; he’d had a clear shot. He spent years telling himself that he hadn’t because he knew that shooting Yuuri would remove Victor’s opportunity to negotiate with a hostage. But the reality wasn’t so easy. He’d shot Yuuri because he’d felt betrayed. His lover had loosed the Brotherhood’s most dangerous enemy. He’d known the depths of Otabek’s anguish and he’d still chosen to side with the vampires.

But he’d also shot Yuuri because in that moment, Yuuri had been the only guilty target Otabek had seen. He’d heard the stories of Victor’s brutality and intelligence, but his interactions with the famed killer had done nothing to convince Otabek of his guilt. No, Yuuri was the only person who had done something wrong and Otabek couldn’t bring himself to punish a potential innocent.

“I know you threw the shot,” Yuuri said quietly as he prodded one of the deeper tooth marks. “Less than ten meters with one of your most efficient weapons … You only missed because you _chose_ to.”

Otabek watched the door, willing Yuri to return. “I’m beginning to doubt whether I make the best choices.”

“I’d suggest groveling.” Yuuri pulled something out of his bag of medical tricks, a green salve that smelled like summer, and spread some over the wounds. “It won’t solve anything, but it’ll make it easier for the rest of us who have to live with him.”

“He acts like he hates me,” Otabek whispered, grimacing a little when the medicine began to work, tingling deep into his skin.

“He’s madly in love with you,” Yuuri corrected idly. “You can’t be _that_ angry with someone unless you love them more than you should. Besides, he felt you dying. Offering your heart freely to someone, only to have them run headlong into an obviously fatal trap, is a little scarring, especially for our delicate _tora_. Give him some time to warm up to the idea that you actually _do_ want to live and spend time with him. If that’s true, I mean.”

“It’s true.”

Yuri didn’t question his truthfulness. “Strip. I need to look at your leg.”

He flushed and scooted back a few inches, putting more distance between them. “I’ve only got the sweats.”

Yuuri made a face. “It’s fine.”

“I’m naked underneath.”

The vampire grinned at that and his fangs flashed in the light. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Brother Altin.”

The honorific made his skin crawl. He stood and shucked the pants, frowning at Yuuri as he did so. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Isn’t that your title?”

“It feels … wrong.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. His fingers danced over the marks on Otabek’s thigh with incredible professionalism. “You’re still a hunter. You haven’t turned your back on the Brotherhood and you haven’t said a word about wanting to do that. Just because you’re fucking one of us doesn’t mean you’ve distanced yourself from the organization that wants to wipe us all out.”

“Yuri and I aren’t …” He trailed off, frustrated at his inability to explain what they _were_ doing, what their relationship had become. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He sat back down on Yuri’s bed, the blond vampire’s scent thick around him, while Yuuri tended his wounds. He felt nothing from the other man’s hands on his skin, even though they’d once been intimate. But looking around the space Yuri considered his private sanctuary, Otabek felt his chest swell from noticing the tiny details. The pictures tucked into the pages of a dog-eared book Yuri had obviously carried with him for decades. The clothes strewn haphazardly, ironic considering Yuri’s obsession with dressing well. The worn blanket he’d wrapped around Otabek with such care.

In the end, he didn’t answer Yuuri’s question. Instead, he risked asking one of his own. “What we had between us was never real, was it?”

Yuuri’s forehead scrunched and his mouth flattened. Otabek had seen that look enough times to know Yuuri was deep in thought. Eventually, as he replaced the lid on the jar of the salve and screwed it shut, he said slowly, “I think it was as real as either of us was willing to allow at the time.”

Otabek took a deep breath. “Well, what Yuri and I had was real. Far more than I was prepared for or willing to allow. And I know that keeping it alive will mean distancing myself from the Brotherhood.”

“You’re willing to do that?”

He shifted uncomfortably, from the emotional nakedness of the moment, not the physical. Although, damn, he really wished he could be wearing pants for this conversation. “I told him I’m not leaving again. I’m not sure what I’ll have to do to make that true, but it doesn’t matter. Yuri’s mine, for as long as he’ll have me.”

“Well, that’s fortunate,” came a charming, Russian-accented voice from the doorway. Otabek paled when he spotted Victor standing there, watching him and Yuuri with deceptive calm. “Otherwise I’d have to worry about a former paramour’s cock being inches away from my Yuuri’s face.”

Otabek grabbed for the sweatpants. Yuuri rose and joined his mate, a smug smile curving his lips. Victor wrapped a proprietary arm around Yuuri’s waist and nuzzled against his temple, whispering something that made the other man blush and laugh.

“So,” Victor said while Yuuri snuggled closer, “you’re Otabek Altin, the hero of Kazakhstan. I thought you’d be taller.”

“And I thought you’d be younger.”

Whoops. Probably should have shown more respect. Victor’s perfect composure shivered, then shattered entirely, leaving Otabek with the startling and unsettling vision of Russia’s greatest vampire tilting his head back and laughing. He swallowed hard. No wonder Yuuri had chosen to abandon the Brotherhood for this man. He was beautiful and flawless, even as he wiped away tears from his eyes.

“Now I understand why Yuri loves you so much,” Victor said, his smile bright and full of fang. “And he _does_ love you.”

“I know.”

Victor’s amusement remained, but his eyes grew stormy. “Yuri does not love many, nor does he love lightly.”

Otabek placed his hands on his knees, fighting the urge to curl them. “I know.”

“And you’re probably going to tell me that you’ll win him back and that you two will somehow make things work out and live happily ever after.”

It was worth the surprise that flashed over Victor’s face when Otabek stood, holding his sweatpants over his groin, and shook his head. “I wasn’t going to tell you that.”

“What then?”

“I’ll win him back, we’ll decide what we want to do, and then we’ll live. I don’t care if it’s happily ever after or not. As long as we’re together, _living_ , I’ll be happy enough.”

Victor and Yuuri shared a look of delight and Otabek would have had to been blind to miss the way Yuuri leaned in to Victor, his hand rising to rest over Victor’s on his waist.

“You’re willing to fight for him,” Victor murmured. “That’s good. It won’t be easy, but we’ll help how we can.”

“Help?”

“Yakov wants you stay at least one more night. Your friend Emil has already agreed to that. It will look less suspicious for you both to have hidden from the strigoii until you were sure it was safe to return home. While you’re here, I want you to prove yourself.”

For fuck’s sake. What was with these vampires having difficult conversations while he was naked? He gave up on attempting to be polite and quickly pulled on the sweatpants, wishing he had a shirt as well.

Victor, meanwhile, had continued without even a hitch in his breathing. “Prove you can care for Yuri the way he deserves. He needs to feed. Not from a blood bag, either. He needs to tap a vessel and try to regain some of the strength he’s given up. If he can’t, future fights may not end as cleanly as they did tonight. Whether you act as his donor, or you get him to feed from Phichit or Minami is of little concern to me. Help him.”

Otabek wanted to ask Victor why there was such urgency, but his question was forgotten when a voice from the hall snarled, “Move, old man.”

Victor and Yuuri stepped to the side, allowing Yuri to pass by. He hesitated on the threshold, gaze locked on Otabek, who stood awkwardly by the bedside. “You look guilty, Altin. What they hell were they talking about?”

His loyalty to Yuri outweighed his desire to make Victor happy. “They’re saying you need to feed.”

He was pathetically grateful for Yuri’s scowl being directed toward Victor and Yuuri instead of him. The blond’s lip curled. “Yakov and I already talked about it. This is none of your business.”

“Your ability to fight with us _is_ my business,” Victor retorted with the familiar ease of someone who had spent decades arguing with Yuri. “Isn’t that right, Altin?”

Tricky fuck. Otabek schooled his face into as neutral an expression as he dared and held Yuri’s gaze, pretending those green eyes weren’t seeing right through him. “He has a point.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care all of the sudden?”

“Because this is my fault.”

The bluntness of that statement drew a flush to Yuri’s cheeks, but he covered with a sharp laugh and a toss of his hair. “It was my decision.”

“A decision you made after I asked you to not feed from anyone else.” Otabek ran a hand over his jaw and took a cautious step toward Yuri. Behind him, Otabek could see that Victor and Yuuri hadn’t moved from their place by the door, watching the scene play out with rapt fascination. At least they were staying quiet. It was already hard enough to talk to Yuri about all of this without an audience.

“I didn’t know what asking that meant,” Otabek told Yuri quietly. “I’m sorry I was selfish. I’d like to try to make it up to you.”

“Whatever,” Yuri muttered, his hair falling to cover his face.

Well, it wasn’t a _no_. He pressed on, resolve growing stronger. Yuri deserved the truth from him, even if it wasn’t pretty.

“The last time, you stopped feeding from me because … Well, because I was all kinds of fucked up and couldn’t pull my shit together. I know that hurt you and I wish I could say those feelings of mine have gone away completely, but I can’t. I’m still going to struggle with it. Doing this goes against everything I was ever taught.”

He could see Yuri shutting down, see the way his shoulders curled in as he cut himself off from Otabek and the rest of the world.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I want to share this with you.” He took the risk, crossed the last hair’s breadth of distance between them, and brushed his fingers down Yuri’s neck. “Please, feed from me. Give me the opportunity to show you the real me, not the hunter the Brotherhood made.”

Yuri’s breaths were uneven and Otabek could see the war raging inside him. It was a testament to how badly Otabek had hurt him when Yuri took a half step backwards and said weakly, “I don’t want you.”

It was a lie. He knew it was a lie in his mind and his heart and his soul, but the words still landed with a sting that left him scrambling to hide his hurt. Four words and he wanted to retreat from the forced confrontation to gather his wits. Yuri had survived the bond breaking. Otabek didn’t deserve another chance with him …

As if he knew the doubts swirling through Otabek’s mind, Yuri repeated, with slightly more conviction this time, “I don’t want you.”

"In that case—” Yuuri stepped forward, out of the circle of Victor's arms, startling Otabek and Yuri both.

Otabek raised a brow at Yuuri as he came closer. He’d forgotten the vampire and his mate were still watching.

"Trust me?" Yuuri mouthed. 

Hell, they'd worked together for years. He’d drunk Yuuri’s blood so he could heal. Why not? Otabek gave a bare nod and Yuuri came to his side, his hips swaying with sensuous intent. He ignored Yuri, who watched with mild irritation, and stood so close there was no distance between him and Otabek. His arms came up to rest on Otabek's shoulders, his hands crossed lightly behind his neck. The look on his face was unlike any Otabek had ever seen: pure seduction.

Yuuri smiled. "If you don't want him, I'm sure you'll let me and Victor borrow him for a little while."

Holy shit. Katsuki was insane.

"Huh?" That from Yuri, behind them.

"We won't share blood," Victor promised, following his mate's lead and coming to inspect Otabek more closely. "But the rest—” He nodded, as if he liked what he saw, and gave Yuuri a wicked grin. "I think it could be a fun night."

Should he protest? Should he let it play out and see what Yuri would do? He froze and Victor used his hesitation to their advantage.

“You may as well see if he’s worth it,” Victor murmured to Yuuri. His hand slid up and down the other man’s spine, teasing him until a beautiful blush rose to Yuuri’s neck and cheeks. “Go on.”

The moment Yuuri’s lips pressed against his, Otabek wondered if this another of Victor’s tests. On one hand, his body reacted instinctively to the familiar press and scent of his former lover, loosening the tightness of his shoulders and causing his mouth to relax. On the other hand, it felt _wrong_. Yuuri was shorter than the blond vampire Otabek had been bespelled by. Yuuri was sweeter, gentler, and Yuuri was mated to Victor, who had leaned in even closer, so his lips were brushing Otabek’s ear.

“Play along,” the Russian purred. “It’s working.”

Oh. _Oh_. Sending up a quick prayer that he wouldn’t get his throat ripped out, Otabek took all his tightly-woven inhibitions and cast them aside. He let Yuuri deepen the kiss. He let Yuuri make quiet, desperate noises against his mouth. He thought of _his_ Yuri and gave himself over to the fantasy. He dimly registered the sensation of Yuuri and Victor’s hands on his waist when another hand gripped his bicep. The fingers tightened like a steel band and he found himself dragged free of the mated pair.

Yuri placed himself bodily between Otabek and the older vampires. His fangs were out, his face set in a feral snarl, and his stance screamed of his willingness to fight. “Out.”

Yuuri and Victor began a steady retreat to the door. Yuri followed them closely. He growled whenever they stopped and sidestepped to avoid something on the floor. The few times one of them tried to make eye contact with Otabek, Yuri’s growl shot up in pitch and intensity until goosebumps broke out over Otabek’s skin. _This is why mated vampires are dangerous_ , he thought to himself.

Somehow, Yuri herded them back into the hall. He slammed the door shut with such strength the items on the shelves rattled, and clicked the lock in place.

“Yuri?” The adrenaline had begun to drift into his bloodstream, along with a hint of fear. He hadn’t seen Yuri like this before, this step beyond sexy or tempting. No, Yuri was pure predator now, slinking closer with ferocious grace and fevered intensity.

“Did you mean it?” Yuri asked. “What you said about trying again?”

Otabek widened his stance, tracking Yuri’s fluid movements. Victor and Yuuri had left, so he probably didn’t have to worry about Yuri killing him. Still, whatever was to come, he doubted it would be painless. He lifted his fists, more out of habit than necessity, and winced at the warning pang in his injured arm. “Yes.”

Yuri’s kick was so fast Otabek couldn’t block. His foot cracked into Otabek’s ribs, the pain and surprise causing him to step out of his stance and stumble toward the nightstand. He barely managed his bearings before Yuri came at him again, this time a lunge for his injured side. Otabek twisted, avoiding the worst of the impact, and got hooked around the ankle with one of Yuri’s feet. His world tilted and he fell backwards.

The bed cushioned his fall, but there wasn’t time to get up. Yuri was on him already, knees pinning his hips to the mattress, hands pressing into his shoulders. “Did you mean it?” Yuri demanded.

Otabek, trapped as he was, nodded. “Every word.”

“I won’t let you in,” Yuri warned. He dropped his face to Otabek’s neck, his breath hot and fast against the sensitive skin there. “I won’t let you that close again.”

And, on that miserable promise, he struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a day late, but happy birthday to you, Staronet! This may be a normal chapter update (although huzzah for the upcoming smut!!!), but my delayed birthday present is the news that one chapter of the Victuuri prequel of AVO got written yesterday. It'll take me a while to finish this one up and then move on to the prequel full-time, but I promise you and your friend that it's in the works. :) Here's a tiny snippet to tide you over:
> 
> “Did I ever tell you I went toe to toe with Victor? It was in Paris. I found him at a fashion show. He knew what I was and he stopped and turned and smiled at me.” Even at the memory, Yuuri’s lips curled with private delight. “He didn’t try to kill me. He just stood there and asked if I wanted a photograph. A photograph.”


	16. Sirens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I couldn't resist posting it a little early. The smut has arrived. Definitely NSFW, so you've been warned. But after the smut are some feels and conversation, so ... worth it!

Otabek grunted when Yuri’s fangs pierced his flesh. His body tensed and Yuri fought the urge to knead at his shoulders to calm him. Otabek didn’t need calming. Yuri did. He was angry, furious from watching Yuuri and Victor paw at Otabek. Furious at Otabek for allowing it, for reacting to it. Most of all, he was angry at himself for his weakness.

Once Otabek knew the truth, he would probably run back to the Brotherhood. He was their soldier first, Yuri’s lover second. Giving in to temptation, feeding from him, feeling the pull to bond with him again … those should all be avoided. And yet, the moment Otabek’s blood hit his tongue, Yuri whimpered with pleasure. Thick, sweet, with a hint of spice hidden beneath the salty-copper tang.

He ground his hips to Otabek’s, fully erect and hungry for more contact. The hunter’s breath hitched and he clutched at Yuri, arching his hips up in invitation.

_Lock him out. You have to lock him out._

Yuri threw up his walls, protected his heart and his mind, and continued to feed. The initial rush of emotions still curdled his stomach. Shame and guilt washed over him, although they weren’t as strong this time. He wanted to stop, wanted to draw away again, but he remembered Otabek’s quiet confession, his hope that Yuri would continue on and give him a chance. He fed until the worst of the emotions faded away, replaced with something else. Something new.

A soft shyness, a flicker of admiration that grew and grew until Yuri’s chest warmed. Vulnerability and an awkwardness which reminded Yuri of being chosen last on the playground, of sitting in class and reading quietly in the hopes no one would notice he was by himself. Strength winding itself around Yuri’s ribs like steel cable, tethering him to the man lying on his bed, who whispered encouragement.

He needed to stop. Otabek had been injured and he couldn’t afford to lose any more blood. He was about to pull away when another emotion brushed against him, gaining speed and strength until it crested like a wave and drowned him.

“Yuri?” Otabek sounded dazed, blissed out.

It was too much. He couldn’t do this. It was too late. He couldn’t deny the gift Otabek had just given him. He released off the vein, licked over the wounds, and crushed his mouth to Otabek’s with bruising force.

The hunter didn’t fight, didn’t do anything except moan and relax his jaw so Yuri could slide his tongue in further, to revel in the wet, deep kiss that kept going and going until they were both out of air and sense. By now, Yuri had draped himself over Otabek. His hands were buried in the man’s hair, palms tickled by the undercut while he clutched at the soft strands in an unneeded effort to hold him in place. Otabek wrapped an arm around Yuri’s waist and had his other hand around his neck. His thumb brushed lazily along the base of Yuri’s skull, tickling at his hairline.

There still wasn’t enough skin. Yuri pushed up and tugged off his shirt, then worked on freeing them both from their pants. Otabek helped as best he could, but Yuri mostly ignored his efforts and pushed him back down on the bed, determined to take this at _his_ pace. That first real time in the hotel had been a leisurely exploration, a way of meeting their mutual needs. He wasn’t patient or forgiving enough for that tonight.

He only abandoned Otabek for a moment, just long enough to grab a bottle of lube from the small box under his bed. He tossed it to Otabek. The man raised a brow.

“Tonight,” Yuri told him in a low, rough voice, “you’re mine. You’ll do what I say, when I say.”

He could see Otabek’s desire to fight in the way his body tensed, the way his jaw flexed. He expected that.

“That’s the only way you’ll be allowed to have me, so decide. Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to get the hell out?”

Otabek shuddered and closed his eyes. His fingers whitened from how tightly he gripped the bottle. Yuri watched the pink tip of his tongue slip out to wet his lips before he answered in a shaky voice, “What do you want me to do?”

Victory. Sweet victory.

“Finger yourself. It’s the only prep you’ll get.”

Otabek’s eyes opened to slits, watching Yuri through dark lashes. “What will you be doing?”

He crawled up the bed until he could kneel by Otabek’s head. He reached down and arranged the pillows more carefully, then took his cock in hand. “I’ll be fucking your mouth.”

The raw moan that broke loose from Otabek’s chest made his heart lurch. He squeezed down on himself near the base, determined to see this course of action through. “You don’t have to do any of this,” Yuri reminded Otabek.

He muttered something under his breath, but popped the cap of the lube and massaged a generous amount onto his fingers. He reached down. His gaze fixed on Yuri, open and a little afraid. “Don’t … You don’t have to be gentle with me. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”

He didn’t want Otabek’s trust. Didn’t want to be responsible for that vulnerability.

“You aren’t touching yourself, Altin.”

Once he was sure Otabek had begun, he pushed his hips forward and sank into the heat of Otabek’s mouth, praying the physical distraction would stop the thoughts ricocheting around his mind.

 

*****

 

It wasn’t anger. Otabek knew that the moment Yuri rearranged the pillows to better support his neck. It wasn’t the hate fucking they’d agreed to so early on outside that club, either.

No, the way Yuri waited for him to slip his fingers down to play with his ass, watching his face for signs of how it felt wasn’t a sign of hatred. The way Yuri leaned in with his erection—carefully, as if he were afraid Otabek would refuse him—wasn’t a sign of hatred either. And the soft, broken sigh Yuri made when Otabek closed his lips around that silky skin … that told Otabek everything he needed to know.

Despite Yuri’s harsh words and despite his ultimatum, this wasn’t _fucking_.

Yuri let Otabek take his length at his own pace. Sometimes, when Otabek slid his tongue up the shaft, curling around the crown, Yuri’s hips would stutter in an abortive thrust, but that was the most he allowed himself. His scent was heady and as Otabek worked him with patience and careful attention, it grew harder and harder to remember what he was supposed to be doing with his fingers.

“You stopped again,” Yuri warned, drawing back.

He hated that. Hated when Yuri interrupted and pulled him out of this moment. It was punishment enough for the blond to rest his weight backwards, watching Otabek’s ministrations with lustful avidity. To pull his cock away and deny Otabek its heft and weight and taste … He groaned and tried to remember what the hell he’d been doing. He’d fit two fingers into his ass, scissoring them to stretch himself out. He knew he needed to fit a third. Yuri was thicker than expected; the soreness in his jaw after the morning in the hotel had taught him that. But the problem Otabek faced was if he _was_ to fit a third finger, he’d need to focus on the task instead of on Yuri’s cock.

“Altin, look at me.”

Dammit. Another reminder of his previous fuck-up. _Names are a sign of respect._ And Yuri didn’t call him Otabek anymore.

He gulped for air, but opened his eyes. The sight of Yuri kneeling above him—pale skin reflecting the light of the room, the shadows cutting along his muscles like dripping ink, his hair loose and falling forward over his face, hand moving in firm strokes over his erection—broke something inside Otabek’s chest. He burned. He pined. He _wanted_ with such pain he worried his body would stop functioning. He watched Yuri jerking himself off and tried to match the rhythm with his own fingers.

His skin warmed and his muscles tightened. On accident, he brushed against his prostate and the world lit up, stealing a gasp of surprise from him. Yuri swore and moved back down the bed, grabbing Otabek’s legs and using them to haul him closer. The move shocked him and he gave a strangled yelp when he had to withdraw his fingers. Yuri didn’t seem to care. He grabbed the lube and coated himself before pressing the tip of his cock against Otabek’s hole. A moment of pressure and—they both hissed—he slid in.

Otabek hadn’t bottomed in years, but his body adjusted with greater alacrity than he expected. Yuri gripped his thighs, working himself deeper inch by inch, whispering encouragement every time he had to slow so Otabek could relax. One final thrust left Otabek gasping, shocked at the fullness of Yuri being completely inside him. Yuri, sweat glistening on his brow and bare chest, watched Otabek with a look of amazement and possession. He shifted his hips and Otabek arched with the slow slide of retreat and insistent return. Again and again, Yuri never dropping his gaze, learning how to play Otabek with precise, soul-shaking twists of his hips.

Yuri reduced him to a whimpering, desperate mess before he shifted and began hitting that same spot with each press of his hips. The orgasm built too fast and Otabek’s world exploded into fireworks.

He grabbed Yuri’s biceps, curling from the force of his release as it painted his stomach and chest, and cried out Yuri’s name. A moment later, in the hazy afterglow, he felt Yuri stiffen and give one last thrust. He thought his world had finished rearranging itself. But then he heard Yuri’s shaken call of “Beka!” and discovered the rules could change yet again.

 

*****

 

“God, I love you.”

The whisper, so quiet and sweet in the safe darkness of the room, wasn’t meant to be heard. Yuri knew that. He’d collapsed atop Otabek, breathing heavily after coming so hard he thought his brain may have leaked out too, and the hunter had reached up to card his fingers through Yuri’s hair. He was so focused on brushing the errant strands from his face that he didn’t realize what he’d said until Yuri stiffened.

The embarrassment Yuri expected came immediately. He didn’t expect to see it vanish just as quickly, replaced with affectionate resignation. “You fed,” Otabek murmured. “It’s not like this was a surprise.”

“True. But hearing it out loud is different.”

“Should I have kept quiet?”

Yuri shook his head, burying his face against Otabek’s chest as his cheeks heated. “Like you said, I already knew.”

Otabek took a steadying breath. “Now what?”

“I clean you up and, hopefully, we fall asleep.” He knew it was a cop-out, but Otabek didn’t push him. Instead, the Kazakh watched him with steady, dark eyes as he stole a chaste kiss and slipped out.

Yuri headed for the bathroom, washing up swiftly and waiting for the water to warm enough that he could wet the washcloth. Otabek hadn’t bothered to move in his absence, so Yuri leaned over him and cleaned him meticulously, smiling a little at Otabek’s grunts of appreciation. Once the washcloth was safely hidden in the depths of his laundry basket, he crawled back into bed. He didn’t argue this time when Otabek rolled over and curled up with him. If the sex they’d just had hadn’t ripped open his injuries, there was nothing left to worry about.

“You love me back.” Otabek said it like he was testing the words, a little unsure of them, but confident enough to throw it out into the space between them.

“Do I?”

He nuzzled his face against Yuri’s hair, breathing in deeply. “You called me Beka.”

Well, there wasn’t any point denying that. Yuri wasn’t sure what had possessed him in the heat of the moment to call out like that. It had felt right. It was that simple. “I’m not sure that means I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, it does.” He felt Otabek smile and the man’s happiness practically radiated from him. “I was so afraid I’d lost you …”

“Hey, we aren’t fully mated, скотина,” he griped. “And I have no intention of creating a bond with an idiot who’s going to run straight back to the people who are trying to kill me and my family.”

Otabek fell silent at the comment. Yuri wanted to smack himself. Of course he would ruin an otherwise pleasant moment. The tension between them grew tauter, until the hunter gave a deep sigh and mumbled, “I need to talk to Katsuki.”

“Huh?”

Yuri purred when Otabek ran a hand up and down his spine, a soothing gesture. It almost made up for the mental image of Otabek making out with the fucking pig in the middle of his bedroom. Almost.

“He got away,” Otabek mused. “He may have some good advice.”

Yuri sat up so suddenly the covers slipped away. He reached for them more out of habit than anything else, and stared down at Otabek. He lay there, relaxed and thoughtful, smiling a little while he watched Yuri.

“You want to leave the Brotherhood?” Yuri whispered. “This isn’t a trick or a sting or something, is it?”

“No, тигр,” Otabek promised, reaching up to cup Yuri’s face with a hand. “This was inevitable.”

Yuri was about to ask him more, but a wide yawn split Otabek’s composure. His jaw cracked and he gave a little shake of his head.

“We’ll talk. I promise, Yuri, we’ll talk about anything you want. But sleep first.”

“Okay.” Yuri settled back down, still eying Otabek and waiting for the trick. He tugged the sheets up over them and skimmed a hand over Otabek’s shoulder. “Okay, we’ll talk later.”

“I love you, тигр.”

He waited until Otabek’s breathing had almost evened out to whisper back, “I love you too, Beka,” and only then drifted off to sleep, smiling from the gentle squeeze to his hand.


	17. I'm not dying but I breathe now

When Yuri woke hours later, he thought he was still dreaming. Otabek lay stretched beside him, face buried in the pillow, arm curled over Yuri’s side. Despite his bandages, he looked peaceful. It pained Yuri to try to escape his hold, but he wanted to check in with the rest of his family and determine what the hell was going on. At his first movement, Otabek opened his eyes. Yuri smiled at his bleary gaze and skated his fingers over Otabek’s shoulder. “Hey.”

The shy, private smile Otabek gave was partially hidden by the pillow and made Yuri’s pulse race anyway. “Hey.”

“Sleep,” Yuri urged, continuing his slow escape. “I’m going to go check with Yakov and Victor about our plans.”

Otabek groaned, but released Yuri. He gave a tentative stretch, looking surprised at his range of motion. “I should do that too. Emil may have checked in with the Brotherhood, but there’s only so long we can push our absences before they’ll start to get suspicious.”

“Shower first?”

They ended up wet and somewhat soapy, but were too distracted to claim they were truly clean when they finally emerged, laughing and weak-kneed, and dried off. Yuri threw on some clothes and let Otabek search for anything that might fit until they could find his clothes from the strigoii attack. He was dressed before Yuri finished combing out his hair, frowning at Yuri in the mirror as he attacked a particularly difficult snarl.

“Let me help,” Otabek said, sitting on the edge of Yuri’s bed and gesturing him closer.

He was doubtful this would end in anything but tears. But Otabek looked so eager to assist he couldn’t deny him. Yuri sat on the floor between Otabek’s knees and offered him the comb. The hunter got to work, starting at the ends and working his way up through the rest of Yuri’s hair inch by scant inch. Soon, Yuri was leaning against Otabek’s leg, eyes half-closed, body humming contentedly from the continual contact. “You’re good at this,” he slurred against Otabek’s knee.

“Do you want it braided?”

“Sure,” Yuri said before thinking about the question. Otabek set to work, while Yuri’s brain caught up. He was plaiting the last of the tail when Yuri asked, “Wait, when did you learn how to braid hair?”

A short pause in the movement of Otabek’s fingers. He recovered quickly, tied it off with a band from the handle of the comb, and said quietly, “A while ago. Haven’t practiced in a few years. Does it look okay?”

Yuri glanced at himself in the mirror, smiling at the sight. “Better than when I do it. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Otabek had returned to his normal quietude. Yuri knew he wasn’t sharing something on his mind, but instead of feeling locked out, Yuri felt like he was part of this inner struggle. Otabek wasn’t hiding his discomfort now; he was letting Yuri see it, trusting Yuri not to press too hard.

“Are you hungry?” Yuri asked, standing to lead Otabek back into the nest proper. He knew Otabek would talk when he was ready.

“Yuri—” Otabek’s brow was marred with a wrinkle of frustration, his mouth twisted in a frown.

He stopped, waited. Otabek took a deep breath, then another. His shoulders trembled and his fists clenched until Yuri could see his knuckles turning white.

“Beka, it’s okay,” Yuri soothed. “I can wait.”

At that name, Otabek’s tension eased. He shook his head, a tiny tic of a movement, and said, “I _want_ to tell you. I, um, I learned to braid so I could help my little sister with her hair.”

“Your … sister?” A minefield of a conversation waited before him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided silence was the best option.

Otabek didn’t seem to mind. He stared at the floor like he could burn a hole in it, body taut. “I had two sisters.”

 _Had_. Important word. Yuri was starting to regret not reading the file Phichit printed for him on Otabek. Sure, it was a gross breach of trust, but wouldn’t it have made this easier?

“They died,” Otabek added, uselessly. “My parents too.” Sweat had started to gather on his brow and Yuri ached for him while he dealt with the panic he was clearly holding in.

“I’m sorry.” It was a lame response, but heartfelt. Again, he watched Otabek’s stance soften. He wondered if Otabek’s mind was trapped in a memory like his sometimes was when he thought about the people from his past. He cleared his throat, reaching a hand back to play with his braid. “My, uh, my mom died when I was a kid. I was on my own for a while before Nikolai found me.”

“Nikolai?”

“My grandpa. Not by blood, obviously. Well, actually, yeah, by blood. Eventually. He turned me. Shit. I’m rambling.” He flushed from the warm smile Otabek wore.

“He was a good man?” the hunter asked.

Yuri swallowed down the pain that rose with the memory, the knowledge of the role the hunters had played in Nikolai’s death. There’d be time to explain that later. “The best man,” he managed. “He fought in Alexander I’s war against Napoleon. He saw all kinds of shit, but did his best to live a meaningful life. I … I learned a lot from him.”

The quiet hum of understanding from Otabek was all Yuri needed. He released his braid and held out a hand toward Otabek. “You coming?”

His lover reached back, tightening his grip when their hands clasped. “Someday I’d like us to talk about them all. It’s important to remember the dead.”

He nodded and kissed Otabek, smiling against his mouth when the man swayed on his feet. “Let’s go. It’ll only be worse the longer we put this off.”

 

*****

 

He followed Yuri like a lamb to slaughter. He wasn’t afraid of facing Yuri’s family and Emil; he was mated to Yuri and not even death would ever tempt him to break that bond again. No, his mind was lost in thoughts of Yuri’s grandpa. He wasn’t sure how to explain to Yuri that he _knew_ Nikolai already. At least, that he knew the last moments of Nikolai’s life. The memories Yuri had shared with him when they were bonded, the rage and grief that surged when he watched Nikolai running down a road to certain death, those were things he’d never be able to forget.

Somehow, as they’d stood there and bared some of their scars, it hadn’t seemed appropriate to say he understood. To say he missed Nikolai too, not because he’d ever met the man, but because he knew the kind of gaping hole it left in Yuri’s life. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure if the bond would work the same way now, if Yuri would start having dreams where Otabek’s memories crossed over and became a living gospel, but if that _did_ happen, he was ready.

It would be easier to let Yuri live those moments than explain them, anyway. Maybe that’s why vampires mated. So they could share the centuries or decades of experience without having to voice those painful pasts.

They found Yuri’s family crowded into the front living room. Everyone glanced up at their arrival and Otabek saw with relief that the expressions greeting them were positive. Even Yakov, who terrified Otabek, didn’t seem to be scowling as deeply.

“What are you all looking at?” Yuri muttered, dragging Otabek to an open loveseat pressed up against the wall near a bookcase. Otabek sat first, while Yuri wavered on what to do. It was adorable to see the fierce Ice Tiger of Russia so awkward. They were still holding hands, so Otabek gave Yuri a gentle tug. He expected Yuri to settle into the empty seat next to him, lean up against him. Instead, Yuri threw a fiery glare across the room at Katsuki before he sat in Otabek’s lap, his long legs stretched out over the empty seat so no one else could sit with him.

Otabek chuckled against Yuri’s neck, earning him a glare as well, albeit one with much less heat.

“Shut up,” the vampire grumbled.

Otabek settled in, wrapping an arm around Yuri’s waist. His shirt had ridden up a bit, so Otabek ran his thumb over the thin strip of exposed skin. Yuri sighed and relaxed against Otabek. From his seat on one of the couches, Phichit gave Otabek a slight nod, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Otabek nodded back, confirming the man’s unspoken question of whether Yuri had fed. Sitting near Phichit, a tall man with strawberry blond hair watched his and Yuri’s interactions with interest. Otabek ignored him.

Victor ended up starting the conversation instead of Yakov. From his sprawl over a couch, his head resting in Yuuri’s lap, he said, “We know you and Emil have to get back. But there’s information you should probably know before that.”

“Oh?”

Emil nodded. He sat on the other side of the dark-haired woman Otabek had seen in the kitchen when Phichit delivered his news about Yuri. “I got a message from Leo. There were two more attacks last night.”

“Shit.”

Yuri lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, an unobtrusive, soothing gesture. “Do we know who it was?” Yuri asked Victor.

The man shook his head, his silver hair catching the light. “No witnesses.”

“Could it have been Georgi?” Yuri asks.

Otabek wanted to ask the same question. He was glad it came from someone _in_ the family though, rather from him.

“We aren’t sure,” Yakov answered. “But considering the strigoii in the area, we need to find Georgi soon. He won’t be safe out there, alone, for much longer.”

“I got some information on the victims of the attacks,” Phichit said, tossing a flash drive to Otabek. “You can read it if you want.”

“I would. I’m guessing I should use a laptop the Brotherhood don’t know about. Otherwise, will they be able to track your accessing the data?”

Phichit made a face. “The Brotherhood is antiquated with technology, but I’m sure there are young enough members who could find ways to trace me if they wanted. I’d like if we can find a link between them without digging deeper and attracting outside attention.”

“Speaking of the Brotherhood,” Victor drawled, “are you crawling back to them as soon as we let you out?”

A few things happened at once. Yuri hissed some truly foul Russian curses at his elder. Yakov sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead. Yuuri smacked Victor’s forehead and scowled at him. Otabek slipped the drive into the pocket of his borrowed sweatpants, and slid his hand under Yuri’s shirt, lightly gripping his waist in a silent effort to calm him. “For appearance’s sake, yes. But the first opportunity I have to leave, I will.”

Silence greeted that statement. Everyone in the room gaped at him except Yuri, Emil, and Yuuri. Emil wore a faint smile, as if he’d been expecting that answer all along. Yuuri didn’t look surprised either, but his voice was too even and calm when he asked, “You understand how difficult that will be?”

“I’m their best soldier. They won’t let me go without a fight,” Otabek acknowledged. “But you escaped.”

“By faking my death,” Yuuri pointed out.

Otabek pretended not to hear the interjection. “And, judging by Emil’s lack of reaction, I don’t think I’m the only one planning on turning traitor.”

His brother-in-arms gave a single nod. The women on the couch beside him exchanged a look and clasped hands.

Yakov cleared his throat. “If you’re serious about this,” he said, voice gruff, “there is a great deal we need to explain to you. But now isn’t the time.”

“No,” Emil agreed. “We need to get back to Leo and Guang Hong. The Brotherhood is probably already suspicious of us disappearing for this long.”

“We’ll need a story to stick to.”

“We fought strigoii, we saw the vampire who is responsible for them, we lost him. We hid out until we thought we could safely return to Leo’s apartment.” Emil gave Otabek a small grimace. “We didn’t wash your clothes. More realistic that way.”

He wasn’t fond of the idea of putting on his ruined gear again, but Emil had a point. “Fine. I’ll keep the bandages on so they can’t see how much I’ve already healed.”

“Don’t forget to act like you’re still injured then,” the redhead told him. “You’re already holding yourself better than you should.”

“Right. Thanks.”

She smiled at him, a sweet expression that made him wonder how many hearts she’d broken over the course of her immortality. “Milla.” She tilted her head toward the dark-haired woman. “And this is Sara.”

“Phichit and Minami will get you away from the nest,” Yakov said. “Meeting again tonight is too risky.”

“Tomorrow?” Otabek asked.

“Can you read over everything by then?” Phichit sounded doubtful.

Otabek shot him a cool look. “I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

“Milla, can you get Altin’s clothes for him? Victor, Yuuri, we should talk about Georgi. Hunters, you can make your goodbyes for now. Things are going to start happening very quickly, so prepare yourselves.” Yakov waved a dismissive hand at them all and strode from the room.

Victor grumbled, but levered himself up and padded softly after Yakov. Yuuri started to follow, but paused long enough to tell Otabek, “If you want to talk about what’s coming, call. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Milla left next, pressing a kiss to Sara’s cheek and wandering off as Sara turned and spoke quietly with Emil. He had to wait for Yuri to crawl off of him before he could shift from the loveseat. By the time they worked their way toward the kitchen, Milla was waiting, Otabek’s clothes in her arms.

“Here,” she said, handing them over. “You can change in the training room if you want.”

Yuri stayed with Milla while he switched outfits. He was grateful he’d passed out during the battle; the rips and tears through his pants and jacket provided horrifying proof of how close he’d come to dying. No wonder Yuri had been furious with him. He emerged from the training room with a new understanding, tugging at the blood-stained, frayed edges of fabric, and avoiding Yuri’s eyes.

“Ready to go?” Yuri asked him after Milla gave a quiet farewell and left them alone.

“Almost. Give me your phone.”

Yuri handed it over with a raised brow, but no complaints. Otabek typed in some information and handed it back.

“What’s this?” Yuri asked, inspecting the address on his phone.

Otabek stepped closer. He gripped the back of Yuri’s head and pressed a kiss to his hair. “My apartment. The Brotherhood doesn’t know I have it, so it should be safe.” He drew back and grinned at Yuri’s happy surprise. “I’ll even go buy blackout curtains for you.”

“How romantic,” Yuri snarked. But he saved the address in his phone before putting it away. “Are you sure you’ll be okay going back to them?”

“It’s only for a night, тигр,” Otabek murmured. “I can’t risk them discovering you or your family before I get out.”

Behind him, Emil appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene in a moment. He silently mouthed, “Time to go,” before backing away. Otabek didn’t want to leave. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Yuri must have felt the same way. His smile was a little bitter and his eyes were full of concern. Yet he still managed a weak, “Good hunting.”

Otabek snorted at the irony of Yuri using the Brotherhood’s words, but leaned in and kissed him anyway. “One night,” he repeated when he had Yuri breathless and boneless. “One night and I’ll be back in your bed.”

With that promise on his lips, he left.


	18. Brother Mine

“You didn’t tell him about Michele,” Yuri said as he walked into Yakov’s office. It had been difficult to watch Otabek walk away, even though he knew they’d see each other again the next night. Knowing that Yakov hadn’t shared everything with Otabek had made his departure worse; Yuri couldn’t seem to push away the thought that the Brotherhood would call his bluff right away.

The three men huddled around Yakov’s desk glanced up at Yuri’s statement.

“I didn’t,” Yakov confirmed. “He wasn’t ready. Once he reads the documents Phichit gave him, he will be. He’s a smart man and he’ll see the pattern, whether he wants to or not.”

“You think they’ll let him live long enough for that?”

Yuuri frowned. “What?”

“Michele was there. If Otabek and the other guy go back, the Brotherhood will _know_ they’re lying when they talk about the escape. What’s to stop those bastards from killing them?”

Yuuri’s frown slipped, replaced with something more pensive. “They’ll kill him for treason. There’s no question of that. But they won’t do it yet.”

“Why not?”

Victor chuckled. “Why would they kill the man who can lead them back to our nest?”

“Think, _tora_ ,” Yuuri urged. “Four born vampires turned to the same bloodline? To find us and destroy our nest would be a coup. They’ll bite their tongues and lull Otabek into a false sense of security before they strike against him or us.”

Yuri grumbled, but couldn’t argue the logic. As a child, he hadn’t thought much of what it meant to be turned by Nikolai. Before his parents had died, they’d explained that as a born vampire, he was unassociated to a particular bloodline. One day, he’d have to decide which master vampire he’d want to turn him, which family bloodline he wanted to join and strengthen. After their deaths, he found himself alone in a harsh world; it would have been stupid to turn down Nikolai’s offer.

He’d been lucky. Lucky an experienced master vampire had chosen him. Lucky that his master’s bloodline was tied to Yakov’s, so he had extended family. Yakov had been surprised for Nikolai and Yuri to appear on his doorstep, since he’d already turned Victor and Milla, but he recognized the powerful advantage Nikolai’s find gave him over other bloodlines. Five born vampires in one nest. They were unstoppable, capable of swelling their ranks during a time when most bloodlines were being systematically wiped out by the Brotherhood.

Their overwhelming power was the only reason they survived the Brotherhood’s all-out assault in Russia. The attack had nearly destroyed them, but they’d escaped, crawled back into the shadows, and begun to slowly recreate their nest. If the Brotherhood found them now—a guarantee since Michele had seen them and would report back—the bastards wouldn’t risk losing them a second time.

“Fine,” Yuri muttered. “But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Yakov said, returning his attention to the desk. “You have to accept it. Now, stop mooning and come plan with us.”

Yuri crept closer to the desk, noting the marked up maps of the city’s infrastructure. “What’s this for?”

“We need to find Georgi,” Victor said.

Yuri reached out and traced a finger down one of the marked sewer lines. “What areas are left for us to search?”

“Not many. If the three of us go out tonight, we should be able to check the last hiding spots.”

“What about Milla and Sara?”

Yuuri shook his head. “With Michele out there, we don’t want to put Sara in danger.”

“She’s more capable than you think,” Yuri protested. “Besides, Milla will want to go out to help find Georgi and you know that wherever Milla goes, Sara will go too.”

Yakov sat down in a chair. He ran a hand through what little hair remained, making the white strands stick out in strange angles. “True. They’re strong fighters and Milla knows when to make a tactical retreat.”

Decided, Yakov marked off one section of the map. “They’ll patrol this area. Which leaves us to divide the rest.”

In the end, Yuuri and Victor would work in tandem to search the largest area left, while Yakov and Yuri would complete smaller circuits. Phichit had to go to work, which left Minami to remain at the nest as security and a potential driver.

“This is our last chance,” Yakov reminded them. “Once the sun sets, we begin. Make sure to rest before then. And send Milla and Sara to me.”

Yuri left that task to Victor and the pig, wandering the halls back to his room. Once he was safe in that space, surrounded by the comforting scent of Otabek, he flopped on his bed and checked his cell. No new messages, which wasn’t a surprise. Otabek and his partner were likely facing an intense interrogation upon their return. Still …

He doubted Otabek carried the phone he had bought; it would have been stupidly sentimental for Otabek to have kept it after their fight. He texted anyway. Short and simple, nothing more than a warning that he was going out tonight. He sighed and tossed his phone onto the extra pillow and stretched out, hoping to take a nap before the evening’s festivities.

His phone dinged. He checked it, shocked to see Otabek’s reply.

“Be careful. Leo and GH almost caught a vamp last night. Not Michele.”

His heart pounded and he sat up, fingers shaking as he typed back, “Where?”

 

*****

 

They’d started on the outskirts of the blocks Yakov had assigned, circling their way in closer and closer to the center. The bars and clubs were older, run-down, with plenty of signs that only the most desperate continued to visit. Most of the streetlights were off or broken. Graffiti marked abandoned buildings or boards covering up broken windows. It wasn’t a surprise to find the alleys in this part of town were foul.

Yuri grimaced and hop-skipped around another puddle of piss, following Victor further into the darkness. With Otabek’s news, Yakov and Yuuri had insisted Victor accompany Yuri. They were Georgi’s brothers and would be the most likely to reach him if he was lost to a feral fit. Granted, that was dependent on their finding him in the first fucking place.

Ahead, Yuri watched Victor pause at the intersection of two alleys. He glanced left, dismissed it, glanced right, but continued straight ahead. It was instinct and the clinging remnants of teenage rebellion that made Yuri check both ways when he too reached the intersection. To the left, nothing but piles of trash. To the right … _movement_.

“Victor,” Yuri snapped, turning and hurrying to the right.

Yes, movement. A hunched figure. The faint moonlight showed familiar dark hair, the careful tilt of a nose Yuri had mocked far too often as a child. Hope hammered against his ribs.

“Georgi!” he called.

No response. No movement. No recognition.

Victor’s footsteps pounded the pavement behind him. He took a deep breath, prepared to bellow Georgie’s name again, when someone slammed into him from the side. They crashed into the near wall. Yuri wanted to yell from the shock and the sudden, jarring pain, but a cool hand covered his mouth and a forearm pressed dangerously over his windpipe.

“Don’t.”

He blinked and stopped fighting from the shock of recognition. A face in the pictures Nikolai carefully preserved, eyes sharp and intelligent, cheekbones carved from ice, and lips pressed in a state of perpetual disappointment. He made a small whimper, but didn’t fight. Instead, he waved a hand, hoping Victor recognized that he wasn’t in need to rescuing.

“Yes,” Lilia said quietly, “you understand.”

Her weight lifted slightly, enough that Yuri could suck in a fresh lungful of air. Victor had slowed his pace, approaching cautiously. When he saw who had trapped Yuri against the wall, his eyes went wide. “Lilia?”

Politely, with the grace that had made her a prima ballerina, Lilia released Yuri from her hold and turned to greet the newcomer. “Victor. It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” Victor agreed, eyes darting toward Yuri. “Why are you here?”

Lilia tilted her head down the alley toward Georgi. The man remained crouched in the center of the alley, his gaze vacant, his head tilted up to watch the faint pinpricks of the stars overhead. “He was lost.” Her mouth softened and she sounded tired when she added, “I remember when Yakov turned him. I couldn’t leave him alone out here.”

“Is he okay?” Yuri croaked, rubbing at his aching throat. This was too much to process. It was better to focus on the details he needed immediately. Find Georgi. Return him safely to the nest.

“He has good days and bad,” Lilia said. “Tonight’s been rough.”

“Is he feeding?” Victor asked, moving close enough that they didn’t have to raise their voices and disturb Georgi’s private meditations.

“When he’s lucid. It’s been about two days since he last had a full meal.”

“We need to get him home,” Yuri said. “Michele’s here. He’s controlling a group of strigoii.”

Lilia’s lip curled. Her fangs flashed and the hatred in her eyes was explanation enough to Yuri how she’d survived so long on her own. “Georgi came back one night with his side shredded. I had wondered how it happened and he couldn’t remember.” She sighed and crossed her arms. “Do you have a room that can hold him in this state?”

Victor nodded.

“And do you have a plan for transporting him back to your nest?”

Victor pulled out his phone. “Minami is waiting for our call. Do we have time for him to get here though? Is Georgi going to run?”

Lilia shook her head. “I doubt it. He wanted to look at the stars tonight. He said that he and Anya enjoyed watching them.”

Something in Yuri’s chest constricted. “I’ll talk to him while we wait,” he told the other two vampires. “I promise I won’t upset him.”

Lilia and Victor didn’t argue. They were already busy discussing the next steps in quiet tones, which left Yuri free to approach Georgi. The man didn’t even glance at Yuri when he sat down on the filthy pavement beside him.

“You had us worried, asshole,” Yuri said, although the words lacked his usual venom. “If you missed her, you should have told us.”

Nothing. But Georgi wasn’t attacking him, so Yuri wasn’t too concerned. Instead, he tilted his head back and looked up at the stars.

“Remember when you used to make me and Milla do this in the middle of hunting?” he asked the silent vampire. “We would get so pissed with you. Yakov would yell and say you were the sorriest excuse for a vampire he’d ever seen. But that never stopped you.” Yuri smiled to himself, wishing he were back in the cold, clean forests of Russia instead of this stinking alley in America. “Anya had taught you all the constellations. You always practiced them because it made her smile when you could teach others what she knew.”

A shuddery breath, barely audible. A sound caught between amusement and pain.

Yuri kept going. “We all miss her, you know. We miss you, too. I hate walking around at night on the beach, looking up at the sky, but not being able to talk to you about it when I get back home. I wish you’d come home, Georgi. All I have is the stupid piggy and he doesn’t like Otabek at all, so I don’t have anyone to talk to about him—”

Another quiet shift in Georgi’s breathing.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. But I was young and dumb.” Yuri stared at the rip in the thigh of his jeans. He traced his finger over the frayed threads. “I guess I’m still kinda dumb. I mated with him. It broke though. We kind of made up. So now he’s mated to me, but I’m too scared to finish the bond. He’s not even a vampire. What if he falls out of love with me and breaks the bond because he can’t handle the feeding or how we live?”

He clenched his hands into fists and glared at the pavement, eyes burning a little while the questions swirled in his head. “And what do I do if he doesn’t want to get turned, or Yakov doesn’t allow it? You know me, Georgi! I wouldn’t break the bond over something as stupid as his mortality, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to watch him get old and … and … _Fuck_.”

He tried to lift a hand to smudge away the tears leaking down his cheeks, but another hand had already taken to the task, wiping his skin dry with slow, calming movements. Yuri choked out a laugh and finally lifted his gaze. Georgi’s blue eyes met his and Yuri started crying harder from the familiar, teasing expression on the other man’s face.

“You’re thinking too much,” Georgi said. His voice was raspy, broken, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. “You’ve always thought too much.” He patted Yuri’s head and looked behind them, his face lighting up at whatever he saw. “Lilia, Victor, what are you two doing here?”

“We thought you might want to come home.” In the tiny alley, Victor’s voice was a low, sweet song.

Georgi frowned a little. “I just left a few hours ago,” he said. He glanced at Yuri, who saw the first stirrings of panic. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Yuri assured him, “nothing’s wrong. Do you want to stay here and watch the stars a little while longer?”

Georgi looked up and the lines around his eyes lessened as he relaxed again. “No, I think I’ve seen enough stars tonight. We can go home now.”

 

*****

 

“We found him. Thank you.”

Otabek felt the tension drop from his shoulders at the sight of the message. Since he’d given Yuri the info, he’d feared they would arrive too late to find Georgi. Emil had managed to convince Leo and Guang Hong to go with him to check the area near the strigoii—a wild goose chase—so the nest would have time to get in and out without facing off against any hunters. Otabek had managed to beg off on the evening’s revelries thanks to his bandaged “injuries.” After enduring a painfully careful call to his Brotherhood handler, he’d woven his way through the city back to his apartment, ensuring no one was following him. Now, he sat at his crappy, chipped Formica kitchen table, Phichit’s research open on his laptop.

He took the time to type back, “Good. Stay safe. Love you.”

He sent it before he could regret the last sentence. He’d fucking mated with the guy, so it wasn’t like saying those words was forbidden. Yuri already knew how he felt. Still, he tapped his fingers restlessly on his keypad while he tried to read the same medical report five times while he waited for a response.

It _did_ come eventually. And it was worth it.

“Love you too.”

Otabek smiled at Yuri’s message before setting his phone down. The street noise cut through the thin walls of his rattrap of an apartment, as did the lively, domestic chaos of the tiny restaurant beneath. He tuned it out as he returned to his work, skimming pages and pages of data, processing it as he went. There were differences between the victims, that was obvious, but he wasn’t looking for what separated them. Buried somewhere deep in these files, there was bound to be a common thread linking everyone.

He worked late into the night, only taking breaks to stretch or piss or make another god-awful cup of instant coffee. He was about to give up and start fresh after some sleep when he noticed a post on the most recent victim’s Facebook history.

“Wait,” he mumbled, feeling only a little skeezy about investigating a dead woman’s social media page. The post was something about having a great night out with the girls. But the picture … Otabek checked it again, pulse quickening when he saw the mark on the back of her hand. “Son of a bitch.”

He hurried to his bedroom, grabbed the Brotherhood’s phone from its charger, and quickly ran through his pictures. There it was, the same mark, this time on the hand of the victim he and Leo had checked a few nights after his arrival in America. It was a link, thin at best, but still there. He dove back into the files with a clearer goal in mind and began scouring for any mention of clubs or parties or anything that he could tie to vampires or their scene. The further he dove, the worse it got.

Dawn’s rosy fingers were spreading outside his window when he finally shut his laptop. He stared at the cupboards of his kitchen, nauseous and worried and caught in a strange urge to move. He threw himself into a light workout, carefully avoiding the exercises he knew might rip open his newly healed flesh. He showered. He paced the narrow expanse of his living room, the vise around his lungs tightening with every step. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible.

Finally, he called Yuri.

“Hey,” Yuri said when he picked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“Can I come over?”

A pause from the other end of the line. Then a cautious, “Otabek, are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I went through Phichit’s data and I … I … Look, can I come over? I need to talk to someone about this and I don’t know who else I can trust—”

“Beka.”

He sucked in a breath and some of the discord in his head quieted.

“Make sure you aren’t followed,” Yuri said.

“Okay.”

“Minami’s here, so text me when you arrive so he can let you in.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and Otabek hurried to gather his things. Some instinct was blaring inside, screaming out warnings he didn’t fully understand. He just knew that the information he’d found was _wrong_. He wasn’t sure how, but it was years’ of training which led him to strip his apartment bare, to stuff his meager possessions into his duffel bag, and to escape. He locked the door behind him and hurried for the tiny, twisted stairwell, unable to shake the sense of foreboding dogging his steps.


	19. This year's love had better last

Yuri returned his phone to his pocket and sat back at the kitchen table. He watched Yakov watching Lilia heat up some blood to take to Georgi, who they’d settled in one of the locking rooms. In all his years with Yakov, he’d never seen the old man look out of his element. It was a novelty he wished he had more time to enjoy, but Otabek’s call was more important. “Otabek’s coming here,” he said.

“Oh?” Yakov asked. He sounded distracted, not difficult to understand when his former mate stood in his nest’s kitchen, making a meal for one of the vampires she’d helped raised after he’d been turned.

“He read the data Phichit compiled. He knows.”

“How much?”

Yuri shrugged and rose from the table. He was exhausted and he still smelled like the alley. He wanted a shower before Otabek arrived. He wanted a nap. He wanted to be able to soothe Otabek. He’d never heard the hunter sound so confused and angry. “Enough. I don’t think this is going to be pretty.”

“We’ll talk to him.” Yakov cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Yuri. “Why don’t you go get ready? I’d like to tell Lilia about Altin before he arrives.”

Yuri could take a hint. He left, noting the way Yakov moved closer to Lilia once he was assured Yuri wouldn’t hang around. He retreated to his room, where he showered quickly and threw on fresh clothes. Otabek still hadn’t texted, so Yuri assumed he was being careful about not getting spotted by the Brotherhood on his way to the nest. He changed out his sheets and fluffed his pillows. He cleaned up the random clutter he had let accumulate in the corners of his room. He stuffed his clothes back in their rightful places—laundry basket, dresser, closet—and wondered if he really needed an extra drawer for his shirts. It didn’t take that much work to shift his clothes around, leaving a drawer open. The sight of that empty drawer made Yuri smile, so he continued his cleaning in the bathroom, hanging up an extra towel—just in case—and setting out a new toothbrush next to his. There. Much better.

His phone buzzed. Otabek was here.

He didn’t run from his room, although he might have walked faster than normal. He was a bit surprised to find the entire family, minus Georgi, assembled in the kitchen. Even Lilia had taken a spot at the kitchen table, quietly sipping tea from one of the few china teacups Yakov had managed to save when they abandoned their previous nest. Hopefully that meant their talk had gone well. Yuri pointed at Minami. “Otabek’s here. Could you let him in?”

Minami waited until he got a nod of approval from Yakov. Confirmation made, he rose and hurried toward the front entrance of the nest and its series of doors, which would block stray sunlight from entering their safe haven.

“Why’s everyone here?” Yuri asked, a tendril of unease curling in his gut.

“Altin is going to have questions,” Yakov said. “It would be best if we’re all here so he can ask what he needs. Once he understands the situation fully, he can make his decision. And—” Yakov’s look was pitying. “—then we can make ours.”

He understood what those words meant. Yakov was holding true to his earlier warning; once Otabek made a decision about his future, they would have to act. Whether it meant giving Otabek full access to the nest, or whether it meant killing him while he was trapped down here with them was of little consequence when compared to the bigger picture. Yuri swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“ _Tora_ , are you sure?” Yuuri asked quietly from his seat beside Victor. “There’s no going back from this.”

“I’m sure.” He lifted his chin, defiant. “He loves me. I trust him.”

He took a seat beside Milla, who reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently. He was grateful for her support. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been an asshole when this same situation had arisen with Sara. “Sorry,” he mumbled to her. “And thanks.”

She must have understood his meaning, because she didn’t respond, simply smiled.

Clangs from the front of the nest. Minami had opened the doors. They all waited. More clangs. The steady fall of footsteps. And there was Otabek, disheveled, breathing harder than normal, a stuffed duffel bag on his shoulder. Minami trailed behind him, looking a little concerned. Otabek’s eyes swept the room, taking in the scene. When he found Yuri, time seemed to stop. His breathing evened, his body relaxed, and the corner of his lip quirked in the ghost of a smile. “This looks like an intervention,” he joked, dropping his bag to the ground near the wall and crossing to take a seat beside Yuri.

“In a way, it is,” Yuri agreed.

“Where’s Phichit?” Otabek asked, checking the faces one more time. “I have some questions for him.”

Yuuri fielded this question. “He’s at work. He’ll be back later tonight.”

“We figured you’d have questions,” Victor added. “That’s why we’re all here. We’ll answer what we can.”

It was beginning to come together. Yuri could sense the change in Otabek, his understanding of the situation. His shoulders tightened again, as did the skin around his eyes and mouth, but he didn’t appear frightened. He didn’t seem surprised to be facing off against all of them. If anything, he seemed resigned to it.

“Fine,” he said. He didn’t reach for Yuri.

Strangely, he appreciated that. This would be hard enough to get through without that connection flaring between them. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to not leap to Otabek’s defense, or to over-explain in an attempt to soften the blows, no matter what he told the pig about being ready for this.

“Good,” Yakov said. “Then let’s begin.”

 

*****

 

The serious faces surrounding him at the table in the vampires’ nest reminded Otabek that he had more to lose than his life. If he fucked this up, he’d lose Yuri too. _That_ was utterly unacceptable. No matter how angry and hurt and confused he was, it was wiser to pause for a moment, to breathe, to gather his thoughts. No one seemed to think he was drawing out the inevitable. Instead, they settled in more comfortably. Their ease helped him, even if he knew they could jump him and kill him in a flash. Once he’d gotten a handle on himself, he cleared his throat and stretched his clasped hands onto the table. Proving he had no ill intentions toward them—and making sure they saw he was unarmed—probably wouldn’t hurt either.

The first question that popped into his head probably wasn’t what they were expecting: “Is Georgi okay?”

Silence. From his seat near Yakov, Victor gave a shocked laugh and muttered something in Japanese. Yuuri shrugged and fired back a response which must have been vaguely flattering, since Victor looked at Otabek with cautious respect. “Georgi’s settling in,” Victor said, in Russian this time so Otabek could understand. “He was somewhat lucid when we brought him home.”

“Somewhat lucid?”

The stern woman beside Yakov set down her teacup and held his gaze. “At a certain point, the madness becomes degenerative. Georgi doesn’t appear to be that far gone yet.”

Her words had a profound effect on the room. The atmosphere tightened, as if an invisible tuning peg had been twisted in a sharp motion. Otabek tightened his grip, nervous to say the wrong thing, but needing to know whether his sympathy was misplaced. “How long ago did he go feral?”

“After we escaped Russia,” Yakov said curtly.

“Why?”

No one at the table spoke. The silence stretched on painfully, until Yuri cleared his throat. He wouldn’t look directly at Otabek. Instead, he watched Otabek’s hands and said, “Georgi was mated. Her name was Anya.” The skin around his lips whitened as he pressed them together. He was clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but dedicated to sharing the information with Otabek. “She was pregnant. And she was killed in the attack.”

“Tortured,” Victor corrected, his voice soft and pained. “She was tortured first, then killed. She was at home, so no one knew until later when we … when we found her.”

“What about their baby?” Otabek asked. He had a horrible feeling he didn’t want to know the answer.

“How do you think they tortured her?” Victor asked, the edge of winter’s bite frosting over his words.

That curl of nausea in the pit of his gut unfurled and spread higher, into his throat. “I didn’t know.”

“We know.” Yuuri gave him a weak smile. “None of the hunters knew.”

None of the Brotherhood’s hunters were involved? “Then who the fuck did it?”

“Michele.”

His heart sank. He remembered Emil’s misery when he explained his relationship with Michele on the way home the previous night. Otabek hadn’t been able to blame him for hesitating before the kill; it was nearly impossible to quash the instinct to protect the closest thing you’d ever had for a brother. Especially when the situation was so complicated. Sara hadn’t turned when she ran to Russia with Milla to escape her brother’s controlling behavior, which grew worse and worse with each passing year. Michele became obsessed, convinced he had to rescue her from a fate worse than death, even when Emil had tried to convince him to leave Sara alone. Emil even went so far as to let Michele talk to a vampire he’d caught and was holding for the Brotherhood, hoping it would convince Michele that Sara wasn’t in danger. He’d only left the room for a moment, but it was enough. When he came back, Michele had been turned. He nearly killed Emil in his escape and Emil had been trying to right his wrong ever since.

“He’s a bastard,” Sara said quietly. She must have interpreted Otabek’s silence for disbelief instead of the shock it actually was. “He holds so much hatred inside, especially for himself. Of course he’d turn and use those advantages to kill as many of us as he can.”

“Vampires, you mean?” Otabek asked. His muscles tightened on their own volition, fight or flight starting to take effect in him. The conversation was rapidly devolving, skirting around the same tangled worries which had drawn Otabek to call Yuri in the first place.

“Yes, vampires,” Yuri agreed.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he protested, even as he pushed away the truth of that slim thread he’d found in the victims’ files. “Vampires who turn against their own are killed.”

“Unless someone can protect them,” Victor said.

“No one is that powerful—” He clamped his mouth shut, against the words fighting their way out, against the bile rising.

“Oh, _somebody_ is. They didn’t tell you?” Victor’s smile was as dazzling as it was twisted. “Michele is one of yours.”

Yuri looked away from his desperate glance. Even his former partner at the opposite end of the table wouldn’t offer him comfort.

Somehow, he got the denial out. “No.”

“Oh, yes. He’s the one who murdered my brother’s wife and child. He led your Brotherhood straight to our door in Russia. And now he’s here, creating an army of strigoii and you’re wondering _who_ put him to that task? You’re not stupid.” Victor leaned in, pale eyes narrowing, searching Otabek’s face. “Think, Altin. _Think_. It’s not a question of _who_. The question is _why_ would they give him that kind of freedom?”

Otabek stared at his clasped hands on the table. The skin was turning white from the pressure of his grip. The truth skittered around in the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to draw it out of the shadows yet. His heart knew the truth, but his brain denied it. Once he saw it, he’d never be able to forget it.

“Strigoii morti are an extension of their master. Michele works for the Brotherhood.” Yuuri spoke with the same measured calm he had used during basic training classes, imparting practical information without bias. “What about the victims? What links them?”

He’d read the documents Phichit had given him. He’d seen the thread. Damn it all to hell. “All members of the scene,” he whispered, “but all killed in unassociated clubs to limit that knowledge.”

“The purpose of these clubs?”

“To offer a safe feeding ground and potential scouting opportunities.”

If Yuuri still had his glasses, he’d be pushing them up his nose by now. “And how do vampires get made?”

“Born or turned.”

“And the fortunate blessing of the purebred?”

“Procreation is difficult. A ten percent to thirteen percent success rate.” It was easy to recite these facts when Yuuri used the Brotherhood’s language and phrasing. The world slipped away until Otabek was just a kid, memorizing and devoting himself to the cause.

Victor’s voice cut through the haze. “Then why would we kill anyone interested in turning?”

There it was. The truth he’d fought to ignore. Ugly and brutal and there was no other explanation. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“No, we wouldn’t.” Victor backed off when Yuuri motioned for peace, but it didn’t help. His entire world was crumbling down. He’d devoted his life to a lie. A murderous, calculating lie.

“The Brotherhood intends to exterminate us.” Yakov’s words were gruff. “If they murder outside our clubs, the places where we find our new children, they’ll either scare away potentials or they’ll draw us out of hiding when we defend them. If they kill born vampires—” He gestured around the room, where Victor and Milla and Yuri sat stone-faced. “—and if they kill enough of us around the world, no future vampires can be made.”

“They’re murdering innocent people to speed the end of this war,” Otabek said flatly.

Yakov didn’t waste time sugar-coating it. “Yes. And they will continue until every vampire is dead. It’s time for you to choose a side, Altin. Kill for them, or kill with us.” The old vampire actually smiled when Otabek flinched at his words. “There’s no point lying. If you stay with the Brotherhood, you will kill. If you join our family, you will be forced to kill, either in defense of your own life or in defense of ours. There is no way forward without bloodshed.”

“Before I answer, I need to ask you a question,” Otabek said to Yakov. He didn’t dare look at anyone else in the room. “It’s a private matter.”

“Out,” Yakov said, his voice cutting through the space despite its low tone.

They left, confident in their leader’s ability to defend himself against one of the Brotherhood’s greatest hunters. Even Yuri exited, without question or look toward Otabek. He waited until the doors were closed to let out a shaky breath. He flexed his hands, staring at the pale lines marring his flesh, the proof of his profession and former purpose. It took him two tries before he could force the words out past the lump in his throat. “The vampire that killed my family … Was the Brotherhood behind that too?”

“No.” He looked up and met Yakov’s pitying gaze. “Your family was murdered by a vampire who broke our codes and created strigoii. The Brotherhood had nothing to do with that tragedy except their using it to recruit you.”

“Is that vampire dead?”

Yakov nodded.

“How do you know?”

The old vampire put both his hands on the table, palms facing up, fingers spread. “I ripped his heart out of his chest with my own hands. Yuri’s grandpa, Nikolai, quartered his body and burned it to ash. I even think he pissed on the fire to put it out.”

“Good.” He sat back in his chair, exhaustion and grief hitting him as fresh as the day he discovered his family’s corpses. “You know I’d never betray Yuri?”

Yakov didn’t really smile. It was in his eyes more than his expression. “Yuri has never placed his complete trust in those who are undeserving.”

“If Michele works for the Brotherhood, they’ll know I’m a traitor.”

Yakov nodded. “I’m counting on that. You need to play them. You need to lead them to us at the right moment.”

“Does anyone else know about this plan?”

“Victor and Yuuri. No one else.”

Otabek grimaced. “Yuri won’t like that.”

“Consider it your opportunity to earn his family’s favor,” Yakov said.

The dry statement shouldn’t have brought a blush to Otabek’s cheeks. Yakov noticed, of course. At least he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he changed the subject. “We’re one of the last nests. The Brotherhood is trying to close in for the kill. It’s why Michele faked the attacks to look like Georgi’s doing. He knew that would lure us out.”

“You should run. Get away from here, get somewhere safe …” He trailed off when he saw the steel in the vampire’s eyes. He recognized that look. He’d seen it for years in his own mirror. At some point, there was nowhere left to run to escape the past. You had to stand and face it. So he swallowed down the rest of his rant and dropped his hands into his lap, waiting.

“Are you planning on going home tonight?” Yakov asked.

“I’m not sure. I brought everything with me, but if you need me to go back, I will.” He straightened in his chair. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Yuri safe.”

“Good. I’ll find you once I decide on our next steps. In the meantime, it probably wouldn’t hurt for you to go talk to him. Now that we don’t have to kill you, I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say.”

Finding his way to Yuri’s room didn’t take as long this time. He wasn’t sure whether that indicated a new level of familiarity with the confusing passages of the nest, or whether his bond tugged him in the right direction. Whatever the reason, his heart felt lighter when he spotted the closed door at the end of the hall. He knocked once, out of warning more than courtesy, and stepped inside.

“Well, I’m not dead,” he joked as he closed the door.

Yuri hadn’t bothered to turn on the main lights. Instead, the room was illuminated by his desk lamp, a narrow strip of light coming from the bathroom’s ajar door, and a set of candles on his nightstand. It was surprisingly cozy, even though it cast its inhabitant in strange, shifting shadows. Yuri barely looked up at his intrusion. His eyebrows were narrowed and his mouth twisted in a sour frown. His bare feet made whispers over the carpet of his bedroom, the only sound in the whole room.

His intensity reminded Otabek why there were legends of vampires appearing out of the mist and fog to take corporeal form. They were predators first and foremost, and Yuri’s lethal grace meant he could vanish into this comfortable darkness before Otabek would know what happened. That knowledge—which would have set off every warning bell a few weeks earlier—now endeared Yuri to him all the more. _He_ was the man fortunate enough to be allowed in this private sanctum. _He_ was the man who got to see Yuri in the vulnerable moments. _He_ was the man who was allowed to seek and ride the crest of pleasure Yuri’s body willingly yielded.

He found himself wearing a sappy smile, but didn’t have the heart to hide it. He was all in now. He’d proven that to Yuri and intended to prove it again and again until the blond trusted him once more. Now he’d have a chance to prove his dedication to Yuri’s family. And from there … well, they’d find out where the future would take them after they survived this cluster with Michele and the Brotherhood. “Yakov said you’d probably want to talk.”

Yuri made a _tch_ in the back of his throat and his frown deepened. “The old man should mind his own business,” Yuri muttered.

He didn’t move from the doorway, trying to give Yuri space to process whatever weighed on him. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re waiting for me to stake you.”

At least it stopped Yuri’s pacing. He halted in the middle of his room and crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture was oddly defiant and protective at once. Otabek wondered how long Yuri had been in here while he’d been talking to Yakov, how long he’d been searching for the courage to spit out the words he felt were necessary.

It came eventually, a torrent of rapid sentences and surly attitude. “I’m not an idiot. The Brotherhood sent you here to kill me. They knew if we saw each other, we’d both be interested. Going after you would give me a chance for revenge and I tick every box on your trophy hunter’s list, right?”

To his credit, Yuri played it off like it wasn’t a big deal. His posture was easy, his chin tilted like he dared Otabek to call it anything but a joke. But Otabek knew him now. He heard the undercurrent of pain in Yuri’s voice and understood the question he didn’t ask.

“Sit down, тигр,” he urged.

Yuri obeyed. Slowly. He didn’t relax either. Instead, he stayed hunched on the edge of his bed while he watched Otabek cross the room.

“What are you _actually_ worried about?” Otabek asked, standing beside the bed but not sitting. He hadn’t been invited to yet.

He refused to cower at the flash of fangs and immediate denial. Instead, he waited out the Ice Tiger of Russia’s tantrum, his obvious attempt to dissuade Otabek from this line of questioning. Finally, when the excuses and recriminations ran out all that was left behind was a pale, concerned man who looked like his heart was breaking, though he was brave enough to ask, “How can you stand to be with someone like me?”

“Someone with a serious iron deficiency and a biting kink?”

Yuri cuffed him on the hip. It stung a bit, even if the effort expended was minimal. “No, asshole,” Yuri snarled, “a vampire. A _killer_.”

“You think I don’t wonder the same thing?” He sat too, careful to give some space between them so Yuri didn’t try to bolt. “I’ve spent most of my life hunting and murdering your kind. I enjoyed it before what I learned tonight and I’m damn good at it.”

Yuri took a breath and held Otabek’s gaze. The nerves were still there, but they were evening out with something else, a new sense of calm or resignation or understanding. “There’s no reason we should be able to make this work.”

He dared to move closer, waiting for a protest that never came. “And there’s a million reasons we shouldn’t.”

He reached out a hand slowly, which gave Yuri time to move away if he wanted. He didn’t. He sat there, eyes narrowed as he tracked Otabek’s hand approach, but he didn’t flinch or draw back. His skin was cool and smooth under Otabek’s fingers and after a tense moment, he turned his face into the touch. His eyes fluttered shut and the gusty exhalation he gave was the closest permission Otabek would have to speak.

“That first night we fought at the club, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. And then you kicked my ass. It’s the only time I ever wanted to let a vampire live. I had to find you again.”

Pink lips curved into a shy smile. “You’re the only hunter I’ve ever met who truly believes in your work. You have no doubt, no shame.” Yuri opened his eyes and looked up at Otabek through golden lashes. “I wanted your conviction.”

His breath caught and he couldn’t help but brush his thumb lightly over an eyebrow, tracing the line’s curve. “You have the eyes of a soldier,” he murmured, entranced.

“You would know.” This time it was Yuri who closed the distance between them, lifting his hand to cradle Otabek’s face, leaning until their foreheads butted against each other, so close now there was nothing they could do but hold each other.

“Let me make love to you?”

Yuri’s ears reddened, but he nodded silent acquiescence. “Would you … Could I bite you during it? I want …”

Yuri looked so confused, so frustrated. Otabek’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest. He understood what Yuri was asking, but this was too important. He needed Yuri to ask, needed Yuri to _want_ this as badly as he did. It wouldn’t mean anything if this didn’t come from Yuri alone.

It didn’t take long. The vampire heaved a sigh and gave out a horribly crude curse Otabek tried not to laugh at. He waited. And then Yuri lifted his fingers to trace the pulse in Otabek’s neck and said the words Otabek had been waiting for.

“Tonight, let’s finish this.” His tremulous smile and suspiciously damp eyes caught the light of the candles when he smiled at Otabek. “I could never want anyone but you. I want every vampire to know you’re mine and I’m yours. For as long as we have.”

Otabek lifted his own hand to cover Yuri’s, keeping his fingers pressed tight against that rapid pulse. “For as long as we have.”


	20. Make my world go black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this damn scene multiple times, trying to get it to feel right. Do I focus on the physical? The emotional? Long, boring story aside, emotion won out on all fronts. Sorry in advance. So here we go ...

Otabek didn’t kiss him. Instead, he kept Yuri’s hand against his throat, letting him focus on the flutter of his pulse. It skipped and danced and Yuri found himself breathing in time to it. How long he stayed there, reveling in the raw _life_ Otabek shared with him, he didn’t know. He only knew that when he finally glanced away from Otabek’s warm skin, he was met a dark, fond gaze.

 _Then_ Otabek kissed him.

It was too soft and too gentle and too full of promise. Yuri closed his eyes, squeezing them against the unexpected tears, and let Otabek draw him closer as he teased Yuri’s mouth. He was so caught up in the decadence he didn’t notice the shift in their position until Otabek’s weight pressed him down into the mattress. He arched his hips up, shuddering when Otabek nibbled his lower lip. The hunter laughed and worked Yuri’s shirt off. He tossed it aside and brushed mussed blond hair from Yuri’s face, lowering his head back down to follow the progress of his fingers. Pressed chaste kisses to his brow, the edge of his jaw, his throat. By the time he moved lower and his tongue laved one of Yuri’s nipples, there was no hiding the physical reaction.

Yuri moaned. His skin prickled and he let himself be washed away by heat as Otabek’s ministrations caused a full-body flush. He clawed at the fabric covering Otabek’s shoulders. “Off,” he demanded.

Otabek obeyed. He lifted up only long enough to pull off his shirt, which Yuri grabbed and threw to the ground. His broad shoulders, intersected here and there with the pale lines of scars, flexed and shifted when he helped Yuri shimmy out of his pants and boxers. The cool air of the room was a balm to Yuri’s sensitive skin and he lay back contentedly to watch Otabek finish stripping.

“It’s not fair,” he murmured, eyeing Otabek’s impressive erection. “You’re not supposed to look this good.”

“You’re one to talk,” Otabek shot back with a smile. He reached out, skimming his fingers from Yuri’s collarbone, down his chest and stomach, brushing his cock, lower to his thigh and down his leg. His eyes flashed and he clasped Yuri’s ankle, watching him writhe against the sheets as he rode out the wave of sensation. Yuri had nearly gotten the shivers under control when Otabek teased a finger along his ankle, watching in fascination as he squirmed anew.

“Beka,” Yuri gasped, “stop teasing.”

“No.”

Yuri fought him then. It was half-hearted on both their parts, focused more on amusement and teasing than actual physical prowess. Yuri would twist his way free, only for Otabek to shift his position, wrapping him close once again with a leg or an arm. The intoxicating sensation of skin on skin burned through him. The sharp, crystalline edges of arousal came in fits and starts, ever changing and ever unpredictable. Otabek’s thigh sliding against his cock. His hand following the cut line of the hunter’s muscles as they flexed over his hips. A bicep tightening under his teeth as he smiled and teased with his fangs. Otabek’s face buried against his neck, nipping his skin in a pale imitation of a mated pair’s most intimate act, something Yuri hadn’t even realized he wanted until that moment. All those perfect moments interspersed with swearing and joking and tickling and ridiculous stories and reenactments of battles they’d fought and won against other competitors.

They’d slid halfway off the bed before they were laughing and gasping too hard to continue. Otabek braced his feet against the floor, pinning Yuri to the mattress with his hips, awkwardly caught between laying down and standing up. Yuri ignored the stretch in his back. He pushed hair away from his eyes and watched the scene above him, his heart filled to bursting. The lines of Otabek’s face had softened. The corners of his eyes crinkled, his smile was infectious, and his laugh deep and strong. His dark hair had fallen across his brow and Yuri reached up without thinking, combing it back in place with his fingers.

The laughter stopped, replaced with a gentle smile. Otabek turned his face toward Yuri’s forearm, eyes fluttering shut, and kissed the sensitive skin above the hollow of his elbow. Yuri shivered and when Otabek reopened his eyes, there was a completely different emotion in them.

The air thickened and the underlying current of need sparked, caught, consumed them both. The time for teasing had passed. Now it was harsh breaths, the fumble for lube, pressure and desperation and _relief_ when Otabek finally slid inside. Sharp snaps of his hips. The mattress edge digging into Yuri’s back. They climbed together and as they teetered on the edge of orgasm, Otabek tilted his head and bared his neck and Yuri took what he offered. Gave himself back with the same willingness.

The bond flared so powerfully as they came that the world shivered with darkness. He didn’t follow it; he refused to lose one moment of his mating, even if it was to pleasure. Above him, Otabek gasped out abortive praise, his words stolen, but their sentiment bare. Yuri’s throat felt scraped raw from his own cries, his own shaky promises.

It was a languid descent from there. They abandoned the bedroom in favor of the bathroom, their world reduced to continual touches, no break in contact, even when they slipped together into the shower and stood under the hot water. Otabek washed Yuri’s hair first, his battle-rough hands untangling the fine blond strands with infinite patience. Yuri returned the favor, using his nails to scratch shampoo into the short hairs of Otabek’s undercut. He chuckled at Otabek’s groan and the bond pulsed between them again, its weight comforting. They kissed under the spray until it turned too cold to bear and retreated back to bed, slipping under the sheets and cuddling together in a tangle of limbs.

“Should I set an alarm?” Otabek asked, nose buried in Yuri’s damp hair.

“Yakov will wake us up if he thinks you need to go back tonight,” Yuri grumbled. “Stop worrying.”

“Yuri …”

He shifted in Otabek’s arms, assuring him he was still awake enough to hear whatever needed to be said. His mate tightened his grip.

“Whatever you see,” Otabek said slowly, “don’t hate me for it, okay?”

“The bond goes both ways, idiot.” He probably should have been sweeter, but his acerbic tone seemed to do the trick.

Otabek huffed against his hair. A few minutes later, his body went lax and his breathing told Yuri he’d finally fallen asleep. He smiled, face hidden against Otabek’s chest, and followed after him.

 

*****

_“Otabek, you’re home!”_

_A tiny bundle of energy collided with his legs. He laughed and lifted his youngest sister high._ _“Aiday, when did you get so big?”_

_“I’m the tallest in my class,” she told him proudly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled close as he switched his grip and held her against his side. Her hair was soft, growing out after a disastrous, self-attempted haircut. It made her look older than her seven years._

_More cries of greeting from the house. His mother came out next, laughing and tearing up a little as she gave him a tight hug. She was one of Almaty’s premier surgeons, but had taken the week off to ensure she’d be around for his surreptitious visit._

_“You’re too skinny,” she told him, hands warm against his cheeks. “The military isn’t feeding you enough.”_

_He pushed down the tiny stab of guilt that pricked when his practiced lie fell from her mouth. The Brotherhood had worked with him so his checks home didn’t draw suspicion and so he could explain away his long absences. It was better for her to believe the lie than the truth. “I’ve missed you too, ана_.”

_“Otabek!” Asel, his other sister, hurried out, dragging their father behind her. He knelt and let Asel squeeze him in a tight hug. At nine, she considered herself the glue of the family in his absence. She wrote him letters regularly, complete with pictures, even though she knew he could never write back. He’d explained it away to his handler by saying that she was grieving and wanted to make sure he got the letters in heaven._

_“Your hair is so long, айналайын.”_

_She flushed under his praise._ _“You can braid it later if you want.”_

_“Do my hair too, Beka!” Aiday begged. She tugged at his hair with sticky fingers until he was nose to nose with her. “Promise you’ll do my hair too!”_

_“At least let your brother inside first,” their father requested. Although he wasn’t fond of Otabek’s career—a soldier, he thought—he did his best to be supportive for the sake of his wife and daughters. “Was it a long drive?”_

_“Not by bike,” Otabek assured him, rising and following everyone back toward the house. “I should be able to stay for the weekend this time …”_

The memories blurred, faded, rose again.

_“You’re always leaving,” Asel said. Her expression was petulant, but her tone wasn’t. No, his little sister sounded dull and numb. Too many partings to believe that her sorrow would change his course of action._

_“I’m sorry,” Otabek said. “You know I wish I could stay here with you.”_

_She pressed her face against his stomach, hiding from him. The shake of her shoulders gave away her tears. He wrapped an arm around her, stroking her hair and wondering when she’d grown tall enough to bump her head against the bottom of his ribs. At least he had these snapshots. Soon, he may not be able to afford them. The Brotherhood was suspicious. He’d planned on staying a week; now, two days later, he needed to leave before someone was sent to investigate where he was spending all his free time._

_“Can you come back for my birthday?” Asel asked. “I’m going to be eleven._ Eleven _, Beka. I told all my friends you’d be here for the party, but none of them believe me._ Please _—_ _”_

 _“I’ll try,_ _айналайын, I’ll try.”_

_She finally looked up at him. Her nose had been running and left a puddle of mucus on his shirt. Her eyes were red and tears escaped occasionally. He wiped them away with a thumb, smearing them on her nose or cheek until she was giggling at the game._

_“Try hard,” she told him before giving him a final hug. He winced a little when her little hands brushed the stitches on his back, the memento of taking down a nest on his own because another hunter hadn’t shown in time. “I love you, Beka.”_

_“Love you, too.”_

It felt like surfacing after being underwater. A sudden gasp of relief and falling back beneath the waves, drowning in the past.

Yuri wondered if love for family made all memories feel that way.

_He and Brother Katsuki walked the street market. They’d come to Japan to retrieve some documents and had managed the task early. It was interesting to see Brother Katsuki’s normally contained demeanor shift when he was back home. Otabek wondered idly whether he too felt the tension leach from his muscles, felt like the air here was a little sweeter. They passed a stall with plush toys and Otabek came to a halt._

_Aiday loved chickens. She’d die of joy if he sent her the strange little chick dressed in a dapper suit._

_He handed over his money without thought and clutched at the present, proud of himself as he imagined the package arriving for his sister. But then, Katsuki asked,_ _“Why are you getting_ that _?_ _”_

_Right. No family. No friends. No one outside the Brotherhood._

_He stuffed the toy in his jacket pocket and mumbled,_ _“Just wanted a souvenir.”_

_He wasn’t sure what hurt more: lying to his partner about his family, or lying to himself about how much he missed them. Regardless, he knew he had to make a choice soon._

That knowledge weighed on Yuri’s chest like a stone, crushing him with anxiety and guilt. He was familiar with those emotions, let them wind around him and butt his hands with their massive heads, surprised that Otabek had also found ways to tame them.

The tug was still there. A little further. A little deeper, although this darkness looked menacing. It wasn’t possible for the shadows to grow blacker, but somehow they did. Yuri took a breath and dove. He knew what was coming, knew why Otabek been so afraid …

_He’d known, the moment he’d spotted that fucking vamp in the bar, he’d known. Still, he clung to the last shred of hope against every hunter’s instinct he possessed. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe the Brotherhood had been lying. Cutting all ties would be easier for their organization and its mission, but it wasn’t really necessary for the hunters … What creatures would ever debase themselves to stalk and target lowly foot soldiers?_

_The motorcycle barely held its grip on the road, he turned the last corner of the narrow road so fast. His parents’ house loomed ahead of him, comforting and familiar. His mother’s gardens in the front were an explosion of flowers and herbs, the closed buds swaying gently in the cool breeze. He was off his bike before it fully stopped. He didn’t care what damage he did to it. He already held a stake in one hand, his other tightened around the silver knuckles he always carried._

_At first glance, nothing looked out of place. It was late and his family didn’t know he was making this secret trip to visit them for Asel’s party tomorrow, so the lack of lights wasn’t a surprise. But the flash of moonlight on the latch of the door where it hung slightly ajar wasn’t right. The first sign of many._

_He pushed his way inside. No movement. No sound. Too still. Far too still. And under the normal scent of his mother’s cleaning products and cooking, something sick and faintly sweet, like rotting meat._

_He checked the kitchen, the sitting room, all the rooms of the lower level. Nothing out of place. Family pictures up, books left open from his little sisters’ schoolwork, his father’s checkbook sitting on the desk next to a neat stack of bills. He was halfway up the stairs when he smelled the blood._

_His parents’ room was the closest. The door hung open, not forced, but swung wide like the intruder had waltzed in. He took one step inside and his gorge rose. Blood painting the walls. The bed a ripped pile of fabric and chunks of flesh and crimson—_

_He spun back into the hall and hurled up the contents of his stomach. He staggered away, trying to use the wall to hold him up, but still broke to his knees, heaving over and over until there was nothing left in his body. He coughed, wiped his mouth with a forearm, and heard a wet crunch from his sisters’ room._

_Training. That was the only explanation for his feet carrying there. His mind was shutting down, cutting itself off from the horror it was about to witness, trying to protect him so he didn’t break apart completely._

_The monster was still there. Slick, translucent skin wet from blood and whatever foul liquid its rotting body produced. It hadn’t finished ripping apart his sisters yet. Their bodies lay in broken heaps in their beds, their blood still shiny in the dim light cascading through their window. Their sightless eyes were fixed on the shattered door, as if they’d expected him to walk through it and save them._

_The monster turned when it heard his first step, but it was too slow. His silver knuckles crushed into its face and it fell back with a low hiss of pain. He didn’t bother trying to stake it. Its arms were long, its claws sharp, its mouth full of teeth. Instead, he continued with his rush, getting a shoulder beneath its sternum, and running toward the window._

_He’d kill it, even if he had to die in the process. Death would be a relief._

_The glass shattered, biting into the backs of his hands, breaking off against the leather sleeves of his jacket. For a brief moment, weightlessness. Then the sinking drop. The pain of colliding with the monster’s body as it took most of the impact from their fall. His stake rising and falling over and over while he screamed his pain to the sky and the god that hadn’t saved his sisters._

_No matter how many times he stabbed its chest, the monster kept fighting. Its claws dug into his legs, his arms, his back. He gave up on the heart. Slammed the stake into its eye. Its mouth. Repeated that until the wood splintered and the weapon failed. Then he wrapped his hands around the monster’s head and slammed it down into the paving stones of the driveway. He didn’t stop until there was nothing left in his hands but shattered bone and mush._

_He rinsed his hands with the garden hose. He trudged inside and retrieved a picture of his family from its place on the wall. The frame broke easily. He carefully swept the glass splinters away and pulled out the photo, folding it and tucking it safely into his wallet._

_His father kept cans of petrol in the garage. The streams of liquid hitting the floors and walls of the house set a morbid beat in his mind, the music of failure and guilt. He doused the furniture, making trip after trip until there were no cans left. He lit the blaze with the lighter his father hid in his toolbox next to a pack of cigarettes his mother would have murdered him for if she’d ever discovered it. He waited until the house was fully engulfed, watched his past burning, and pulled out his cell phone to call his handler. They hadn’t been lying and he wouldn’t question them again. He would never question the Brotherhood again if it meant no one else had to suffer this kind of pain._

 

*****

 

Yuri jerked awake. The memory still clung to him like spiderwebs, like a shroud, and he wiped a hand over his face. His heart raced and he’d broken out in a cold sweat. Even with his eyes open, he could still see Otabek’s little sisters. He could feel their phantom hugs, smell their shampoo as his fingers traced out the pattern required to braid their hair. The memories Otabek held of them were so vivid, so much stronger than the memories Yuri held of his own family after decades of distance.

No wonder humanity was so fascinated with vampires. How could they not yearn for near-immortality when they burned so hot and bright? Thank fuck humans could only be turned. To grant them the same level of power born vampires possessed would be fatally unfair. Their passion was humbling and awe-inspiring. He understood why Victor had fallen so swiftly for Yuuri. Why Mila had mated to Sara even though there was no promise of that love being returned. He shifted in the bed, twisting so he could find Otabek, content to watch him sleep while the memories’ intensity faded.

His mate was already awake, dark gaze searching Yuri for a sign of what had pulled him from his slumber. The pain in his eyes seemed to reach out and grab Yuri. He didn’t have to explain that much. Otabek would understand.

“Asel and Aiday,” he said around the tightness in his throat.

“Nikolai and your parents,” Otabek replied simply.

Easy, aseptic. Scars shown, stories exchanged.

This time, they came together with slow gentleness. It was enough to be wrapped together under the sheets, kissing and touching each other, holding each other close while they exorcised their demons with the promise of their future. And this time when they fell back to sleep, no dreams chased after them.


	21. Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you

It wasn’t Yakov who woke them. The ding of a text to Yuri’s phone did that job. Otabek grumbled and tried to stuff his head under a pillow, hoping he’d drift off again. Instead, he was hit with a sudden stab of panic, shocking enough that he swore and ripped free of the bedding to check on Yuri. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Yuri winced at his sharp tone and put down his cell after typing back a reply. “Sorry,” he said, “I forgot how sensitive it is at first. I’m fine, I promise. We’re both fine.”

Eventually, his pulse steadied and the rush of adrenaline that had finished waking him wore off.

“Any better?” Yuri asked quietly, curling himself back around Otabek’s side.

He pressed a hand to his chest, sure he’d feel his heart trying to beat its way past his ribs. “What the hell was that?”

“We’re mated. Eventually the connection isn’t so sensitive, but it’ll take a bit to get used to it.” Yuri traced around his hand with a finger. Eventually, he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What was the message?”

Yuri nuzzled against Otabek’s neck and sighed. “Remember that hotel we went to?”

Like he would ever be able to forget that early morning. His blood heated and his cock stirred. “Yes.”

“I paid for the room by signing a blood tithe.”

“You said that’s like an IOU.”

“Well, they’re calling it in.” The bond must have gone off, because Yuri laughed and ran his tongue over the tendon in Otabek’s neck. “Calm down. They probably just want me to babysit the kids.”

“Wait, they have kids?” He shivered when he felt the light pressure of the tips of Yuri’s fangs. Yuri’s feeding didn’t hurt and now, with their heightened emotions feeding back and forth in an endless loop, he feared he may come untouched if Yuri actually bit him.

“Triplets,” Yuri murmured. His breath ghosted over the goosebumps that rose on Otabek’s skin. But instead of biting, he pressed a swift kiss to the vessel and sat up in bed.

Otabek couldn’t hold in the groan of regret, which made Yuri laugh as he untangled himself from the sheets and clicked on the bedside lamp. “Later,” he told Otabek over his shoulder. He searched for clothes on the floor. “You need to eat and hydrate before I’ll feel comfortable taking more.”

“I’m fine.” If it sounded like he was pouting, so be it. He was.

Yuri raised a pale brow and tugged on some boxers and a pair of ragged jeans. “If you act like that, I won’t drink from you _ever_. You’re not used to it yet and I need to know that you’re healthy, especially with your fucking job. If you want to know what it takes to stay in donor condition, talk to Phichit or Minami. I’m sure they’ll give you plenty of tips.”

“So until I find out what I have to do, you’ll drink from them, but not from me?”

_That_ got Yuri to stop getting dressed and come to Otabek’s side of the bed. His normal sneer was nowhere in sight and he looked far older than Otabek had ever seen. “We’re mated,” Yuri said with borderline impatience. “I know you don’t understand what that means in my world, so let me spell it out for you. Some mates, like Sara and Milla, are willing to share blood with others, but not their bodies. Other mates, like Victor and the pig, consider the blood bond sacred, but are a little more lenient about the sex. You’re mated to _me_ , and I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says.”

He reached out and wrapped a cool hand around Otabek’s neck, not so tight to choke, but with enough pressure to secure Otabek’s attention. “You are _mine_ and mine only. Your body, your blood, _everything_. And I’m yours. No one else is invited to be part of this.” His grip tightened more and Otabek swallowed instinctively, arousal growing when he noticed Yuri’s gaze fixed on his throat. “If I can’t feed from you, I’ll use a bag. If you die, I’ll use a bag. The only vein I will tap for the rest of my life is _yours_ , Otabek Altin. Does that make it a little clearer?”

“Crystal.” He reached up and gripped Yuri’s wrist, where a sluggish pulse beat faintly. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Thank you.” Yuri released his grip and returned to his earlier search for a shirt. “Are you heading back to the apartment?”

With little else to do, Otabek also rose from the bed and began dressing. “I’m not sure. I’ll check with Yakov.”

When they finally emerged in the main nest, most of the family had dispersed. It made sense; night was about to fall and with the trouble in the air, there was a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Only Phichit, Minami, and Katsuki were in the kitchen. They all looked up when Otabek and Yuri walked in, but only Phichit seemed surprised at their linked hands.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “so _that_ happened.”

Yuri shrugged and a wide grin spread over the other man’s face.

“It’s official, right?”

“He’s mine,” Otabek said, squeezing Yuri’s hand. “I need to know how to be a better donor.”

Minami almost spat out the mouthful of coffee he’d drunk. Phichit just laughed and held up his hands in a sign of peace. “Fine. We’ll help you figure it out.”

“Why are you being so supportive?” Yuri asked with a scowl. “You’ve hated him since the beginning.”

“Correction,” Phichit said, “I hated him because he had his head up his ass. Now that he understands what he’s getting into and is being responsible, I’m all for it. Besides, if you’re happy, it’ll be much more pleasant in the nest. This new leaf is just as self-serving as it is altruistic.”

“It’s better to accept and not ask questions,” Katsuki told Yuri. “Besides, Yakov caught him up while you two were … bonding.”

“Is Yakov around?” Otabek asked, amused by Yuri’s bright blush. “I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to go back tonight or not.”

“He said you should probably check in like normal, but assumed you’d be back here with Yuri during the day. Does that work? He’d tell you himself, but he took the van into town with Lilia and the girls. They’re hitting one last blood bank so we have a store here if we need to wait out the Brotherhood.”

“Shit,” Yuri muttered. When Katsuki gave him a look, he explained, “I need to head to Yuuko’s. She’s cashing in the tithe.”

Katsuki tilted his head and pinned Otabek with a careful look. “How are you with bikes?”

He didn’t understand why the question was such a big deal, but the shock around the room made it clear that this was an unprecedented event. “I drove a motorcycle for years.”

Katsuki nodded and rose from the table, heading to one of the drawers under the counter. “I thought you told me that once.” He pulled out a key and tossed it to Otabek. “Be careful with it. Victor will kill you if you hurt it.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Yuri breathed. “I’ve begged him to let me use it for _years_ and you hand Beka the keys without a problem?”

Katsuki made a face. “I wouldn’t, but Yuuko isn’t someone I say no to. Get there, pay off the tithe, and get back here. Understand?”

Yuri was already pushing him toward the exit, excitement vibrating through the bond so strongly that Otabek actually gritted his teeth against it. “Yeah, yeah, we understand. He’ll drop me off and say hi to his buddies and then we’ll get back here. I have my phone.”

It turned out that Victor’s motorcycle was a thing of beauty. Otabek stared at it, open mouthed, until Yuri tugged at his jacket. “He’s had it since Berlin,” Yuri explained, clambering onto the back and holding out the helmet to Otabek. “It took Seung-gil a while to get it out of Russia after the attacks.”

“I’ll be _very_ careful with it,” Otabek whispered, half-promise to Yuri, half-promise to the bike.

Despite his trepidation at driving Victor’s precious bike, the ride back into town was a relief. Yuri clung to him, cooing his pleasure at the vistas stretching out to their side along the coastal road. When the memories of his other drives rose, his mate was there to hug him even tighter, sharing the momentary pain so it didn’t drown Otabek.

Yuri wouldn’t let Otabek drop him off at the hotel. Instead, he dismounted near a taquero a few blocks away. “I’ll text you once I know how long I’ll be,” he promised.

Otabek, who had removed his helmet, nodded and let Yuri pull him in for a final kiss. “Stay safe,” he murmured against Yuri’s lips when they pulled apart.

“You, too.”

He didn’t watch Yuri walk away. There was no point. The Ice Tiger of Russia had survived for decades without him. Not trusting Yuri to take care of himself now due only to the fact that they were newly mated would be a disservice. He was no delicate princess in need of protection; he was a warrior, a fighter, and Otabek would grant him the same trust and respect any of his brothers-in-arms would receive.

Brothers-in-arms no more though. He winced and focused on the drive. He would have to face Leo and Guang Hong soon enough. Emil hadn’t texted him, so they must not have been made privy to the Brotherhood’s plotting or the oncoming storm. Ten minutes didn’t give him much time to plan his excuses. Worse, he wasn’t sure he’d give them excuses. Not anymore. Not with the truth of the Brotherhood’s actions still fresh in his mind.

The moment he stepped into Leo’s apartment, he knew he wouldn’t have to explain anything. Emil sat in one of the chairs, Leo and Guang Hong together on the couch, their expressions stony as they watched Otabek come in. Emil gave Otabek a weak smile. “I couldn’t keep lying to them,” he said apologetically.

“Good.”

Leo’s scowl deepened.

Otabek held up a hand. “I didn’t come here to lie to you either.”

“Where have you been?” Leo asked. “I’ve been avoiding my handler’s calls, but I can’t avoid him much longer.”

The unexpected loyalty shocked Otabek. “You … you’ve been avoiding him?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Of course. I knew you wouldn’t leave without good reason, no matter what they were saying. And when Guang Hong and I started noticing some weird shit with the latest killings, we wondered if something else was going on.”

“A war,” Otabek supplied, deadpan.

Guang Hong’s eyes widened. “It’s true? The Russians are here?”

“Emil wouldn’t tell us,” Leo complained with a lethal glare at the Czech.

“What _did_ you tell them?” Otabek asked Emil. He didn’t bother to remove his jacket or sit. If things were about to go badly, he wanted the advantage in the fight. Leo was healed and he’d sparred with the American enough to know that a brawl wasn’t out of the question.

“The war has come to America,” Emil said. “There is an army of strigoii here, ready to strike.”

The younger hunters didn’t seem to be an active threat. Otabek turned from them a little and focused on Emil. “Did you tell them whose side the strigoii are on?”

From the corner of his vision, he caught the confused look between Leo and Guang Hong. Obviously, Emil had left out that tiny detail.

“They deserve to know,” Otabek said.

Emil didn’t argue. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and stared down at his feet. “And if they don’t believe us?”

“Then at least we tried.”

“Okay, you can stop talking like we aren’t in the room,” Guang Hong said from his place beside Leo. “The creepy, ominous private conversation can stop, too.”

Otabek went to the fridge, pulled out some drinks, and tossed them to the others in the room when he returned. He dragged a chair over so he was sitting beside Emil, and made himself comfortable. A quick check of his phone confirmed the sound was on, so he’d hear Yuri’s text when it came. Settled and ready for the nightmare ahead, one hand stuffed in a pocket around his silver knuckles, he lifted his chin and announced, “I’m leaving the Brotherhood and I think you deserve to know why.”

 

*****

 

The walk to Love Nest was uneventful. Yuri hadn’t expected it to be otherwise, but it was still a relief to not have to watch his back for once. To not feel like something was watching him from the shadows. Knowing the enemy, knowing it was Michele pulling the strings behind the scenes for the Brotherhood, meant he could relax again. Michele had tried to destroy their nest once before and had failed. He could try again, but as long as their family remained united, Yuri had no doubt they’d defeat the idiot. Maybe this time they’d kill him.

And now they had Otabek. His _mate_.

Happiness bubbled up inside until he was forced to tilt his head back and laugh so it could escape. Otabek had chosen him and wanted to stay at his side. Even now, separated by most of the town, he could still feel the brush of Otabek’s emotions in the back of his mind. Concern, which made sense since he was going to face his brothers. Steadiness and contentment, which Yuri had been feeling as well since the bond was created. Love. So much fucking love it felt like a shield, like he could step out into the sunlight and wouldn’t suffer.

There weren’t any cars in the parking lot of Love Nest; it wasn’t a surprise, since it was still early in the night and most of the clientele would be out hunting. He went into the office and said into the speaker, “Yuuko asked for me.”

A buzz from the door leading into the blacked out back of the office. Yeah, he’d expected that little resistance. The last time he’d babysat Yuuko’s triplets, she’d paid him with enough bagged blood to feed the family for two weeks. The brats were hellions, especially when it was feeding time. He pulled open the door and slipped inside, making sure the latch shut fully so the lock could engage. Content no one unexpected would be able to get in, he took the staircase down into the basement apartment Yuuko and her human husband had made for their business.

He bounded down the last few steps, grin already growing when he spotted the three little heads watching the TV. “Hey,” he called, “did someone call for the coolest babysitter ever?”

The blow to the back of his knees sent him flying. He groaned and rolled over, tried to clamber back to up to his feet. Except, two strigoii rushed out of the darkness of the kitchen and pinned him to the ground with their claws through his shoulders. He screamed then. The world shivered with white-hot pain and he thought of those three tiny heads on the couch and fear made the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“You always had a soft spot for the weak.” Michele stepped into the light, watching Yuri struggle against his strigoii. “I should have known the children would make you stupid. And before you start barking curses at me, they and their parents are fine. So long as you don’t do anything stupid, that is.”

He clamped his mouth shut. Yuuko and Toshinori and the girls were safe. Michele wasn’t here for them. They were neutral, only providing a service, so they might escape from this alive.

Michele seemed surprised by his rapid acceptance of the situation. He walked over and knelt beside Yuri, impassive towards the wounds seeping blood into the carpet. “Your nest is here.”

Yuri said nothing.

Michele must not have doubted his own intelligence; after all, where Yuri went, the rest of the family was sure to be nearby. “Where is my sister?”

This time, he got a twisted claw to his stomach for his silence. He cried out despite his best efforts when the strigoii’s claw stretched and scratched against the back of his ribs. “Far away,” he gasped.

Michele frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

More pain. More screaming. He whimpered, but held to the lie. Keep his family safe. “Yakov got her out. You won’t find her.”

The Italian bastard let the strigoii play some more. Yuri lost track of time at that point, too focused on the damage inflicted on his body and its efforts to heal him. Between attacks, he threw up thanks that he’d fed recently. If not, he’d already be dead. And Otabek was strong … his blood was strong … the bond was strong … he’d feel this. All of this. He’d come for Yuri.

Michele must have been convinced that Yuri was telling the truth. Or he was convinced it would take more work to get him to divulge the truth because he rubbed his hands together and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “They want you alive. They think they can coax that idiot Altin back to the fold if they have you. But they didn’t say what kind of condition you had to be in.”

He pointed at his undead servants, who withdrew their claws from Yuri’s body. His throat was too ragged to scream when the claws slipped free, but he managed a weak groan as he felt his flesh trying to knit back together.

A macabre smile spread across Michele’s face, a horrifying mimicry of the bared teeth of the strigoii. “No, condition doesn’t matter, so long as you’re breathing.”

Yuri doubted it would work, but he focused on the bond and pushed out one last, desperate thought. _Find me_.

The strigoii’s fist collided with the side of his head and darkness took him.


	22. I forgive what is within

When he finished explaining, Guang Hong and Leo sat in silence and stared at him. Granted, he’d been curt and to the point, but he’d expected more than the blank looks he was receiving now. “So,” he said, clasping his hands to keep from wringing them, “any questions?”

Leo’s mouth opened, closed, and he gave a single shake of his head. Guang Hong frowned, but not at Otabek or Emil. “A lot’s making sense now,” he mused.

Emil glanced at Otabek. “They’re taking this awfully well, aren’t they?”

 _Too well_ , he wanted to say. But he’d fought beside Leo and knew the man wasn’t an idiot. The fact that he and Guang Hong were both young and relatively inexperienced hunters would only make it easier for them to listen and consider Otabek’s story. They hadn’t been fully brainwashed yet. They hadn’t gone through the same training Otabek had spent years being indoctrinated with.

“To clarify,” Leo asked slowly, “you’re both working _with_ the vampires we’re supposed to be killing because they’re not actually as evil as our bosses and our bosses are trying to frame those same vampires so we do the dirty work and kill them without question?”

“Pretty much,” Emil confirmed.

“Look,” Otabek began, “we’ve chosen our side, but that doesn’t mean you have to make your decision yet—”

The pain that coursed through him was so unexpected, so horrific in its clarity, he partially lost consciousness. He came back to a shaky world, one which required him to blink again and again before the shapes and shades resolved themselves into the crappy carpet of the apartment. Around him, raised voices argued. _What_ _’s happening? Why’d he fall? We need to call someone! Where’s his cell? The Brotherhood will know they were here. Who’s they?_

He forced himself up, wheezing, arms shaking, and tried to speak, but no one heard the faint croaks he managed. At least, they didn’t until someone noticed his attempt to get upright and knelt down to help him. Guang Hong was pale, eyes darting back and forth from Otabek to the other men.

“Pocket,” he said.

Guang Hong reached for his jacket’s outer pocket.

“No. Inside.” He groaned when another lance of pain skewered him through the ribs.

Guang Hong’s nimble fingers withdrew the secret phone from its hidden pocket. “What is this?”

Otabek tried to breathe through the nausea while he took the cell from the younger man and unlocked it. When the dip came and he regained some control of his body’s reaction to the bond, he held it out toward Emil. “Call Yuri.”

“Yuri?” Leo asked. “As in, Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia? Why the fuck would you call him?”

“Shut up,” Emil snapped, taking the phone and dialing without question.

God, it felt like his innards were being scooped out with a rusty spoon. Worse, under the physical pain was the stink of fear, so heavy Otabek’s limbs felt sluggish. He forced his chin up, looked at Emil, saw the way his expression darkened.

“He’s not answering,” Emil said.

The bond flared again, drowning him in Yuri’s terror. But there, for a split second, a single thought. _Find me._ He gasped when the pressure vanished. The fear and pain was gone. Which meant …

He struggled to his feet, weaving and trying to convince himself the phantom pains weren’t actually impacting _his_ muscles, that _he_ was still capable of uninhibited physical response. “Again,” he ordered.

Emil obeyed. Leo’s panic grew and he took a threatening step toward Otabek, hands clenched in fists at his side. “Altin, why _him_? He’s a killer—”

Guang Hong put it together first. “Tell me you didn’t,” he mumbled. “They said he was your type, but I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“We’re mated.”

His statement stole the air from the room. Guang Hong closed his eyes. Leo’s brittle laugh shattered into the emptiness. Even Emil seemed shaken.

“When?” Leo asked.

“This afternoon.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Leo started pacing the strip of carpet between the couch and the coffee table, dragging a hand through his hair over and over. Another laugh escaped him, just as sharp and pained. “You really go all in, don’t you?”

Otabek didn’t dignify the question with a response. He knew Leo was processing this new information and trying to align it with the Brother Altin he knew from training. The Brother Altin who wanted to slaughter every vampire after what they did to his family. While the man tried to reconcile those thoughts, Otabek asked Emil, “Anything?”

“No.” He tossed the phone back and Otabek caught it with numb fingers.

Something was horribly wrong and Yuri wasn’t responding. The bond wasn’t reacting. He called the only other number in the phone.

Katsuki picked up on the second ring. “Otabek?”

“Yuri’s hurt. I don’t know how, but the bond knocked me out and now I can’t feel him and—”

“Hey, hey, take a breath,” Katsuki interrupted. Otabek could hear his muffled call for Victor and Yakov. “Are you with him?”

Behind him, he could hear Guang Hong and Leo having a quiet, but intense, conversation. He tried to remind himself that Emil would have his back and focused on the answer to Katsuki’s question. “No. He went to the hotel. I came to face my brothers. I need to get to him.”

“Where are you?” Noise in the background. “Wait, is this where Emil is staying?”

“Yes.”

“Sara can get us there. Stay in the apartment.”

When had he reached the door? When had his hand started to turn the doorknob, and when had the keys to the bike magically appeared?

“Otabek, are you listening to me? You can’t ride in this condition. The bond is too new. If Yuri’s hurt, it could go off again while you’re driving. If you die in a crash, we won’t be able to find him.”

The cold practicality cut through his panic. He dropped his hand from the doorknob and took a few steps back, forcing distance between himself and the motorcycle that might get him to Yuri in time. “I’ll run there.”

“It’s too far. Does Emil have a car?”

He looked to his friend, who stopped his conversation with the other two in an instant. “Do you have a car?”

“No—”

“I do,” Leo interjected. “Where are we going?”

 

*****

 

They arrived at the hotel before Yuri’s family. Emil had to physically hold Otabek to keep him from wrenching out of the car before it had come to a stop in the lot. Once Leo threw it in park though, Otabek was gone, door left swinging open behind him as he ran toward the office. From the outside, it looked as nondescript as ever. Inside though, he discovered the door beside the blacked out window of the front desk was broken. He stood there for a moment, trembling from the wild rush of adrenaline, terrified to push open the door. Once he did, he may walk into another scene of carnage. He may walk in to find Yuri dead or dying— _no, he would have_ felt _that, wouldn_ _’t he? Yuri said the bond breaking was unmistakable, that it felt like dying, and he was still standing here, so he wasn’t dying_ yet—and he didn’t know if he could do that for a second time in his life. The last time it happened, he’d burned his past to the ground behind him. This time, it would turn to ashes without his setting a match to it.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Yuri drifting away into the night air on a cruel breeze.

A hand squeezing his shoulder broke him from those thoughts. He blinked away the moisture blinding him and looked over his shoulder. A glacial blue gaze held his and the grip on his shoulder tightened reassuringly. With Victor at his back, he steeled himself, pushed open the door, and descended the stairs.

The familiar scent of blood and strigoii hit him like a punch to the diaphragm. He bent over and sucked in what air he could, fighting the urge to vomit. Victor’s hand slid to the middle of his arched back, rubbing small, awkward circles as the man looked around with sharp eyes. Noise on the stairs and Katsuki joined them, Milla trailing close after.

“Yuuko?” Yuuri called, moving past Otabek and Victor to search the underground apartment.

They all tensed at the sound from one of the back rooms. When three little girls emerged, faces streaked with tears, Milla and Yuuri knelt and opened their arms, mumbling reassuring words over the deluge of fresh tears. Two other forms emerged from the darkness. The delicate young woman supporting the thick, but pale, man started crying when she saw the new arrivals.

“You’re safe?” Victor asked. His hand lifted from Otabek’s back, but he didn’t move away. Otabek realized he was waiting for permission, so he gave a quick nod. While Victor joined the others and their rapid conversation, Otabek did his best to pull together his fraying strands of sanity.

By the time he made it over to the group, the vampires must have explained who he was. Yuuko’s eyes widened, filled with tears, and she blurted out, “I’m so sorry. He protected us, but they took him and I couldn’t do anything—”

“You couldn’t have stopped him,” he said. “You know that.”

She nodded, but the guilt ate her alive. He saw it in the flex of her hands, the tremble of her lower lip.

“Michele set a trap,” Yuuri murmured. “He had strigoii here. Told Yuri he’d let the family live if he didn’t fight back. Yuuko and her husband were tied up in the back. The triplets had to sit on the couch as bait. He wouldn’t let them look back or he threatened to kill their parents. They heard it all.”

“Is he alive?” Otabek asked, pretending like his entire world didn’t revolve around the answer to one question.

“Yes,” one of the triplets said.

“They knocked him out,” said another.

“We didn’t hear where they were taking him,” the third added, starting to sniffle.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s alive.” He was so tired. There was no fury left, no rage, no frustration. There was only a gaping pit of misery and darkness he wasn’t willing to dip a toe into yet. So he reached toward the still crying Yuuko, offering what he could. She accepted his hug with a wet sob and squeezed him tightly. The man—her husband?—got an arm around him too and somehow, in that broken moment, Otabek felt the light brush of peace.

Victor’s words were quiet. “We’ll find him.”

Otabek gently untangled himself from the hug and faced Victor. Even buried alive under the weight of grief, he looked perfect.

“He’s my brother,” Victor said.

Yuri had grown up with this man. Otabek could see the lessons Yuri had learned about grace and dignity and poise in the lines of Victor’s body now. He wondered if Yuri had held that same beautiful posture when Michele threatened Yuuko’s family.

“ _You_ are my brother,” Victor said. He reached out and clasped a hand around the back of Otabek’s neck. “No matter how long it takes, we will not leave family behind.”

 

*****

 

When Yuri woke, he wasn’t surprised to find himself in a spartan room, chained to a loop set in the floor. His familiar clothes had been changed out for a plain set of hospital garments. His shoes were gone. His phone was gone, knocked away from him when he’d first been attacked by the strigoii. At least the Brotherhood wouldn’t have access to that. Small favors.

His neck and head ached and when he shifted, his arm complained too. He felt nauseous when he glimpsed the ragged flesh that had been the crook of his elbow. How many times had they tested him, poked and prodded him, if it still hadn’t finished healing yet? And how much of that was from Michele’s rough handling? The bastard had taken no chances of Yuri waking up during the transport to this location; Yuri had been drugged so many times, he was clueless as to how many feedings it would take to work the drugs out of his system.

“You’re awake. Good.”

He blinked against the harsh white lights of the room and found himself staring at a stern faced man with graying hair. There was no one else in the room and it smelled sterile. Even the asshole, who was glancing down at his notebook now, smelled antiseptic and dull.

The man ran his pencil down the page, which probably had some dumb ass checklist written there. “You are Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia. Nest kin to Victor Nikiforov and Yakov Feltsman.”

He curled his lip, showing off his fangs. The movement made his headache worse, but it was important to show that nothing they did would have any impact on him.

“You are responsible for the deaths of over 213 people, 188 of which were during a two year span in the 1980s in Russia.”

Funny how clinical they could make his sordid past sound. He wondered if they gave Victor this same treatment during his interrogation. They must have been quaking in their boots from Victor’s record, although Yuri’s was still impressive for a vampire his age.

“You are in the custody of the Brotherhood. These sessions are being recorded for the posterity of our hunters and their studies.” The man closed his notebook, using his pencil to mark the page, and fixed Yuri with a granite stare. “You are fortunate. You are a fine specimen and deserve more study. If we deem you too dangerous, we will send you back to hell, where you belong. If you cooperate, we will consider making a deal with you. Others of your kind have taken that offer in the past. We urge you to consider it.”

While the cock thistle had been talking, Yuri let what little spit he had pool in his mouth. Now, he spat in the man’s face, the only appropriate response to the suggestion of betraying his kind.

The man withdrew a plain white handkerchief from a pocket and wiped his face clean. He returned the handkerchief to his pocket. Yuri bet he’d hand it off to one of their science nerds to study later.

“This meeting is the only time we will show you the mercy and respect we are capable of giving to such a wretch.” He rose from his seat and headed for the door of the room, taking his chair with him. Yuri tugged ineffectually at his chains. It wasn’t a comment, but the man still turned around and answered as if it was.

“You were hurt during your capture. You need to feed.”

Yuri said nothing.

The man knocked on the door and waited for it to open. “If you refuse to feed, we will force you. You could offer us much insight into this demonic plague. It will go easier for you to work with us, rather than against us.”

Whatever security protocols the Brotherhood had in place must have worked, because the man left and Yuri was left alone in the room once more. Well, not fully alone. He’d already noticed the observation window along one wall. Michele sat there smugly, watching the drama unfolding before him with no sign of guilt.

With nothing but time on his hands, Yuri turned his back to the window and tried to think. Victor had survived a Brotherhood interrogation, in large part due to the pig’s interference. Still, they both warned the family that if anyone was captured, death may be a preferable option to trying to push through the questioning techniques of the Brotherhood. Except, Yuri was mated. He wouldn’t kill himself and sever that bond. He wouldn’t make Otabek suffer that way.

Even now, the bond stirred sluggishly, a faint imitation of what it had been. The drugs were probably interfering with it somewhat. He couldn’t risk the Brotherhood learning that he and Otabek were mated. He couldn’t let the bond be used to force Otabek into a corner, to rush in to rescue him before it was safe to do so.

He had no doubt his family would come for him. That Otabek would come for him. It was just a matter of out-thinking and outlasting the cruel bastards who currently held his body.

The Brotherhood would know from Michele that starvation could force a vampire to madness. But, from the sound of the interrogator’s list, they didn’t know enough about Yuri’s past. They didn’t know what else would set him off, what would help him trigger that degenerative state. And he was far too fucking valuable to kill, even if he was out of his mind.

When the door opened again much later and two hunters walked in, dragging a scared man between them, Yuri had no doubts about his course of action.

“Feeding time,” one of the hunters said. He was tall and strong, with a sneering face and the kind of arrogance that only came from fights won too easily against opponents who posed no real challenge.

Yuri looked at his future meal. The guy tried to ramble off some kind of reason for Yuri not to eat him, but that didn’t matter. He doubted the guy was some innocent the Brotherhood picked off the street. These self-righteous sycophants weren’t about overt collateral damage; their use of Michele and the strigoii proved that.

“I’m sorry,” he told the young man, standing and stretching his chain as far as it would go so he could reach the offered meal.

“Hurry up,” the angry hunter barked as he held the victim in place. The other, quiet hunter said nothing, but he wouldn’t look at Yuri as he bared his fangs and prepared to bite. Prepared to break the promise he’d made to Otabek and intended to cleave to until his death. This was the only way he could save what they had.

_I’m sorry, Beka._

The blood was foul, thick, and cloying. Yuri swallowed and tried to disconnect from the act. It helped, and soon, the demons from his past decided it was time to come out and play. He gave in to the fear and hunger he’d spent decades learning to control.

The hunters in the room were young. They didn’t know who he was. They didn’t know what he was capable of. They weren’t prepared when he drained the restrained man, weren’t expecting him to use that sudden surge of strength and power to snap his chains like strands of silk. Weren’t expecting him to knock the angry hunter out with a swift kick to the head, to grab the other and rip out his throat, draining him to a husk. Yuri heard Michele pounding on the glass of the observation window, knew Michele would explain what was happening, what the danger was. It didn’t matter. The Ice Tiger had risen and as Yuri knelt to finish off the unconscious hunter, the whispers of blood lust slid through his mind.

He’d been feral once and Nikolai had brought him back. He knew what would come. He knew how it would shatter him. But he wasn’t afraid this time.

Because he also knew that at some point, the nightmare would end. He’d open his eyes and see Otabek standing there. Their bond would call to him and he’d come back.

On that hope and faith, he gave in and let the monster overtake him fully.


	23. If I can live through this ...

The bond wasn’t broken. It wasn’t whole though, either. Whatever Yuri had done—or whatever was being done to Yuri—left Otabek worse off than before. He was grateful the vampires had taken him and Emil with them when they uprooted the nest. The Brotherhood would have had no problem killing him if he had been on his own. Days ran together into weeks and he wove in and out of lucidity. His memory was shot. Chunks of time vanished. There was no discernible pattern of sleep or wakefulness. The physical pains were still present, but dulled, wrapped in a thick layer of cotton that deadened most of the sensations. He would switch from nauseous to starving to disinterested in food. Worst of all were the mood swings.

He’d be fine, only to devolve into rages minutes later. Yakov and Lillia would engage in tense conversations when he went off, leaving him to the care of Yuuri and Victor, who took it all in stride. When he came back, throat raw from screaming, knuckles split and bleeding from whatever or whoever he attacked, Otabek would apologize to everyone, only to succumb again later. In the depths of his shame, he tried to get the vampires to agree to avoid him, but he was family now. They treated him with the same care and devotion they showed to Georgi, who seemed to be easing his way back into sanity with more and more success. Soon, Otabek found himself talking with Georgi, utilizing the man’s techniques to cling to the best parts of himself when the urge to lose control rose. And he started training in earnest.

Victor and Yuuri wore him ragged. The physical distraction did lessen his episodes and helped him return to a rough schedule of sleep, wake, eat, train, eat, sleep, ad nauseum. He was almost in control of himself fully when Emil and Phichit announced they had finally found the Brotherhood’s temporary base of operations. They discovered it through old-fashioned detective work and a frighteningly illegal use of real estate and bank records. Guang Hong and Leo hadn’t been able to help like they’d wanted. Their protestations of innocence and ignorance had worked on their handlers; two days after the kidnapping, they were swept up by the Brotherhood and transferred away. Otabek knew they’d contact him when it was safe to do so, but now wasn’t that time.

No, now was the time to rescue Yuri from the bastards who had taken him.

Otabek flexed his hands, grimacing at the sting and stretch of fresh scabs over his knuckles when he made a fist. He, Katsuki, and Victor were waiting at the top of the gentle hill overlooking the facility, their backs resting against the side of Minami’s van. There wasn’t long left now before he could _do_ something. Phichit was with the others in a small ravine near the gate. They were far enough away to avoid detection, but close enough Phichit could work his magic on the security systems the Brotherhood had installed in this former processing plant. Once Yuuri got the signal, they would head down the hill, slip through the gap in the fence Minami had cut several days ago, and kill anyone who got between him and Yuri.

Well, that might have been his understanding, but when he’d said it aloud, Victor hadn’t argued. Instead, he tossed his shining hair and gave a fanged grin that made Katsuki sigh and shake his head.

The beep from Katsuki’s phone left Otabek standing straighter, his hand already dipping to the knife at his waist and the gun on his belt. He didn’t like guns, preferred the hard rasp of steel against bone, but he wasn’t fighting vampires now. Humans were far more delicate and he’d use whatever weapons would help him get to Yuri faster.

“Almost there,” came the quiet call. Katsuki shot him a look. “You sure you’re up for this?”

His fingers played with the hilt of the knife, dancing along its pommel. Tonight was the first time the family had trusted him with weapons since Yuri went missing. “Just get me inside and it’ll be fine.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue or challenge Otabek’s statement.

“Remember,” Victor said, “we find him and get out. Nothing else.”

“Fine,” Otabek bit out. Once he had Yuri, there’d be plenty of time to plan revenge against the Brotherhood. But getting Yuri was more important.

_I_ _’m coming_ , he promised, pushing the thought through the bond. It gave a sluggish flicker in response, but nothing else.

Another beep of the phone. Katsuki didn’t bother to say anything, simply started down the hill, Victor and Otabek silent shadows at his back. Ahead, the rough, industrial blocks of the facility stood bathed in a combination of shadowy moonlight and the few, flickering florescent floodlights. The few windows that existed were painted over in thick black paint, a common Brotherhood trick for buildings adapted to hold vampire prisoners.

“It’s quiet,” Victor breathed as they slipped through the chain link and began the cautious run around the edges of the empty parking lot. From further down, near the gate proper, they could hear the quiet rumble of the van Emil had stolen for tonight’s work.

“I don’t like it,” Katsuki muttered.

Otabek understood. He didn’t like it either. Every sense warned him that something was wrong. The lack of activity was off from the Brotherhood’s normal behavior. But the need to see Yuri again, to find him and bring him home was too strong.

They didn’t bother with the back door of the facility. The alarms were off, thanks to Phichit, and the maps they’d studied of the building’s layout limited the potential areas for interrogation or torture rooms. Going through the front was the fastest and cleanest entry and exit. Otabek drew his gun and his knife, waiting to the side of the door as Victor and Katsuki exchanged a look. The latter ended up opening the door, ducking out of the way immediately to give Victor and Otabek a clear view of their targets.

Except, there was no one there.

Behind them, faintly, Otabek heard the van drive up to the door, the sounds of the rest of the family as they spilled out and hurried to provide back up. He didn’t focus on that though. He was too caught up in the scene before him, a scene Victor was taking in with quiet intensity.

The facility was abandoned, but the chaos meant it was a recent change. Broken electronics melted together in stinking, smoldering piles. Metal wastebaskets filled with mixed ashes from papers set ablaze too quickly. Chairs knocked over, lamps and lights knocked askew. And blood. Everywhere, blood.

“They haven’t sent in cleaners yet,” Katsuki murmured, stepping forward to join his mate.

“Which means it happened—” Victor began.

“Less than twelve hours ago,” Otabek croaked. He forced himself to move further into the building. To his left, flies buzzed up in an irritated cloud, distracted from the spray of blood across the floor.

No bodies. Why wouldn’t there be any bodies?

As if he heard Otabek’s unspoken question, Katsuki glanced toward a hastily closed office door. “They’re in there,” he said flatly.

Victor nodded his agreement. “Smelled them as soon as we got the doors open.”

Milla ran in, Sara at her side, and they both gasped at the sight. Milla reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Otabek’s arm.

“Check the office,” Victor ordered, still staring at the carnage of the main room.

Milla slipped away with Sara, heading toward the office. Otabek followed Victor and Katsuki dumbly, trusting them to take in the details he knew he was missing. A moment later, he heard Sara’s voice call out, “All drained.”

Victor’s low oath echoed through the empty corners of the building.

“Drained?” Otabek asked. “That means …”

He pushed past the mated pair and ran toward the area they guessed would be the holding cells. He passed through a series of two doors, the second swinging open off its hinges. Around the door were the scattered remains of some kind of makeshift barricade, strewn throughout the hall now. The holding cells were exactly what he expected from his years of service. Small, utilitarian, simple. A few of the slightly larger rooms had observation windows, so those were clearly for torture or interrogations. There, at the far end of the hall …

The door of the holding cell lay on the floor, but the scuff on the opposite wall showed proof that the door had hit there first, then slid down to its current resting place. He spun in place, noting the dark spatters. In his mind, he pieced together the fight. Discarded weapons lay around the room, none of them bloodied. Here and there, rancid heaps of rotting meat indicated the failed attempts of strigoii to take down their attacker.

“Yuri fought,” Otabek said to no one in particular.

“I know.”

He glanced over his shoulder and watched Yakov pick his way into the room, scowl deepening at the sight of the hunters’ silver weapons. Victor followed at his right shoulder, expression carefully blank.

“The bodies in the office were drained.”

Victor’s eyes flicked from the signs of the furious battle to Otabek’s face and back to the blood. “Yes.”

“Did they kill him?”

Yakov shook his head. “Yurochka’s too valuable. Not that they’ll get much out of him in this state.”

“This state?” And then it clicked. Otabek had to close his eyes against the pain of the knowledge, had to clasp his arms around his middle to keep himself from falling apart. “He’s feral.”

“We had our suspicions,” Victor said, making his way to Otabek’s side. He reached out and clasped a hand around the back of Otabek’s neck, a comforting weight. “A new bond is unstable, but there were too many coincidences.”

His mood swings. His sudden changes in appetite. The strangeness of the bond and that dense, muffled sensation whenever emotions flowed between him and Yuri. The past weeks, he’d been feeling Yuri devolve. He’d felt the edges of Yuri’s madness and hadn’t known it.

“He said you don’t come back from that.” The words squeezed their way past the lump in his throat. If he’d known, could he have kept Yuri from losing himself? “He said—”

“Yuri says a lot.” Yakov looked tired, but not surprised by this newest revelation. “And sometimes what he _doesn_ _’t_ say is more important.”

“He’s alive,” Victor promised. “You would know if he wasn’t. And it’s hard to come back, but you’ve seen Georgi. It _is_ possible. Besides, Yuri’s come back once before. He’ll remember how to do it again.”

“ _Before_?”

Yakov and Victor exchanged a wordless glance, but Otabek wasn’t willing to wait for them to decide when he should know the details. “What do you mean, _before_? He’s my _mate_. Tell me.”

Victor frowned. “I’ll tell you once we’re away from here. We can’t risk staying if the cleaners have to come finish their work.”

Otabek shrugged off his hand, fury exploding. He turned his knife on Victor, spinning the man so the blade rested against his throat. Victor didn’t struggle. Even Yakov didn’t move.

“Altin,” Victor said, his voice low and soothing, “I swear I will tell you about Yuri, but we need to leave. If they catch us here, they’ll kill us before we can find him and free him.”

The rage was right there, burning like a bed of coals under his skin, taunting and teasing him to push the knife in deeper. He wanted pain. He wanted suffering. He wanted blood.

The bond twisted, stretched, and a wave of pain blinded Otabek. His knife clattered to the ground and he partially collapsed on Victor. “Yuri,” he groaned, a sharp pulse growing in his temples.

Victor crouched, using Otabek’s weakness to his advantage and sending him falling over Victor’s shoulder in some bastardization of a piggyback ride. “Breathe through it,” Victor told him as the world faded in and out of darkness. Voices. They had found something. They were leaving. The cool night air outside. The scent of freshly crushed grass as Victor carried him back up the hill, Katsuki behind them, his hand pressed flat between Otabek’s shoulder blades, keeping him on Victor’s back. Oil and upholstery and motion and Minami’s excited pitch as he and Katsuki talked.

“Still with us?” Victor asked.

Otabek moaned and realized his weapons were gone again, spirited away at some point. Katsuki, probably.

“I know it hurts,” Victor said, “but is there anything else? Can you feel anything else?”

He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter, fighting the nausea as the van rocked and shook. “Can we stop driving?” he begged.

“I haven’t started the car yet.” Minami’s concern sent his stomach plummeting.

“Focus,” Victor told him. “The movement. Tell me about the movement.”

He swallowed the bile that was rising, wondered if it was his imagination that he could taste blood in the back of his throat. “We’re rocking,” he said through gritted teeth. “Side to side, but up and down too.” Wait … that was a familiar sensation. Focus, Altin, focus … “I think it’s a boat.”

“Good.” Victor’s praise did little to soothe his misery.

“I think I’m hungry. I’m not sure. I feel so sick I can’t tell.”

“They probably drugged him,” Katsuki told his mate. “If he went feral in there, they would have had to knock him out to transport him.”

The world righted itself to suddenly that Otabek slammed his palms to the floor of the van, wondering if anyone else had felt the massive jolt that ran through his body. But there was nothing now. No sickness, no pain, nothing except the quiet sounds of breathing and the tickle of sweat sliding its way down his temples. “Why does it do that?”

Yuuri said something to Minami, who turned on the van and began to drive away. Victor tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lips, but didn’t say anything. Otabek frowned and sat up, ignoring the phantom seasickness fading with every passing moment. He looked at Katsuki. “Why does the bond keep disappearing?”

“Knowing our _tora_ , he’s trying to protect you,” Katsuki said with a shrug. “If he’s lucid and can reestablish the bond and the Brotherhood figures that out, they’ll use it against you both.”

“So he’d rather be insane than be connected to me?”

Victor made a soft _tch_. “Even feral, as you call it, we still feel the bond. It’s not as strong, but it’s there in the back of our minds.”

“Then what the fuck happened with Georgi?”

“His mate was killed,” Katsuki said. “No bond left.”

Otabek buried his face in his hands. He was torn between anger at Yuri for being so stubbornly protective, and touched that his mate intended to save him from the worst of the Brotherhood’s efforts to break them both. “We need to find him,” he finally said. “He’s in pain.”

“That’s what happens when you lose control,” Victor said.

“How long until he loses himself to it completely?”

“I’m not sure.” Victor held up his hands when Otabek began to protest. “He was never able to tell us exactly how long he’d been feral before Nikolai managed to bring him back to us. All we knew is that Yuri had lived on his own, had earned his moniker from his fits, and swore he’d never let himself reach that same point again. It was the first promise he made when he regained his mind.”

“If he’s really reverting, the Brotherhood will have limited options of where they can hold him,” Otabek told Katsuki, focusing on the positives of the situation. Hell, if he focused on all the impossibilities, he’d lay down and give up now.

“And if he’s on a boat, I’d bet they’re heading back toward Japan. It’s the first port with a high-risk asset detention area,” Yuuri agreed. “I’ll call Seung-gil.”

“We’ll find him,” Victor said, an echo of his promise in the basement of that hotel. “In the meantime, you need to focus on keeping him calm. Keeping him tied to us.”

He snorted. “How?”

“Share the good things with him,” Katsuki suggested, fixated on his phone. “Let him know that he’s not been abandoned. You and I both know what they’ll do to his body. Keep his mind occupied.”

“I don’t think he’ll let me. If he’s trying to protect me, he’ll never let me close enough—”

“Why did your sister send you all those letters?” Katsuki asked. The abruptness of his question left Otabek flinching. Still, without looking up to see if his words hit their mark, the other man continued, “A connection, even if it’s only one-way, is still a connection. It’s your turn to be as strong as she was. Can you do that for him?”

“Yes.”

 

*****

 

They fed him. Blood bags, mostly. Sometimes Michele would bring a victim in for him, but that was inconsistent as fuck. Since he’d snapped in America, they didn’t let their hunters alone with him. Smart. He’d kill them all. Thirty-nine hunters and seven of Michele’s demonic creations in all before the remaining strigoii had piled on him and forced him to immobility. Not bad, considering it had been decades since he’d really let himself off the rails.

Yuri tugged against his chains, hissing when they bit into his already raw wrists and ankles. The sea voyage had been miserable. He was sick for most of it, vomiting up what little nutrition they gave him, so his healing was slow. Now he was caged like an animal in this pit of a new room. He knew what that meant.

New torture.

New lies.

New victims.

The bouts of saneness were fewer and far between now. He was grateful. It was easier to let himself slip away than to stay with the Brotherhood and its flunkies, his body their toy.

He missed Otabek.

Sometimes his brain played tricks on him. He could imagine Otabek there with him, could imagine his scent and his touch and the weight of his body holding him through the worst of the nightmares. Other times, he felt Otabek testing the bond, pushing back to him, seeking him out. Usually he shut down those attempts, forced himself to go completely wild so their connection snapped and broke. Usually, but not always.

He was weak, after all. That’s how he survived the long voyage to this base in … Japan? Korea? He didn’t even know. He’d been whisked away so fast he hadn’t caught his exact location. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the memory of those short bursts Otabek sent to him. The easy, relaxed enjoyment of dinner with his family. The delicate bite of salt and the cool breeze off the ocean. The forged, focused pain of training scrapes and bruises, heated with Otabek’s determination.

_I’m coming._

He had no doubt.

“I see you’re still alive.” The squeak of a chair being moved a little further out of his reach. The settling of weight, the familiar flap of pages being reviewed. “You are Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia.”

Yes, yes, yes. If they knew all of this, surely they didn’t need his confirmation. He let his head fall back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling. It was dark up there. Strange.

“This will be your only opportunity to unburden yourself of your guilt.”

He laughed. They always said that. How many _only opportunities_ could a man be given?

“So be it. Now.”

A searing flash of white light in the ceiling above him. Even though he heard the metal trapdoor snap shut a second later, the sunlight had already done its damage. He screamed against the burns, momentarily blinded from its damage to his eyes.

But he’d caught the scent outside.

_I’m coming._

Hurry, Beka …

 

*****

 

“They’re gone.”

Katsuki wrapped his arms around Otabek, holding him up through his grief. At that moment, he hated Seung-gil, the vampire who had agreed to raid the Brotherhood’s base with his nest.

Yakov inclined his head. “We appreciate your help. Is your family safe?”

Seung-gil shrugged and wiped away a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “There were only three hunters left behind. They didn’t manage to destroy everything. You have some time before more arrive.”

“Phichit,” Lilia called, “go with Victor and Seung-gil. The rest of us will return to the nest.”

She turned from the others with the regal bearing of a Russian empress and fixed her gaze on Otabek. “We’re only a few hours behind them. This is progress.”

Otabek surged against Yuuri’s arms, but it was a futile outburst since the man didn’t loosen his grip an iota. “They’ve had him for almost two months. He’s slipping further away every day.”

“Release him.” Otabek wasn’t sure who was more surprised by Lilia’s command: him or Katsuki. He found himself freed, confused at the ease of Lilia’s order and the instantaneous obedience Katsuki showed. She crooked a finger at him. “Come with me.”

She didn’t return to the cars with the rest of the family. She didn’t tell Yakov where she was going. Instead, she led him away from the Brotherhood’s base and back into the streets of the small Japanese town they’d arrived in just after sunset. They walked side by side through the quieting neighborhoods. Otabek realized Lilia was leading him back to their temporary nest at a small, family-run onsen. They were only a few streets away when she deigned to speak to him.

“Why are you so afraid for him?”

It was a ludicrous question. “Because I was a hunter. I know what the Brotherhood is capable of.”

“You’re a hunter,” she agreed. “You studied him. You know what _he_ is capable of.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“Why not?”

He took a vicious kick at a crumpled newspaper on the ground. “Because he’s doing this for—”

Lilia stopped. Otabek nearly ran into her, barely sidestepping in time to avoid the collision. Her expression remained tight, almost pinched, but her gaze was sorrowful. “I didn’t believe him,” she mused, watching Otabek. “But Yuuri was right. You really don’t believe you deserve happiness, do you?”

“I …” He swallowed hard and avoided her eyes, staring at the ground instead. “There’s so much blood on my hands,” he finally said. “I don’t deserve—”

“Yuri thinks you do.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that. So he kept his mouth shut and waited.

Lilia sighed. “When he first arrived, he refused every scrap of kindness anyone but Nikolai showed him. When Nikolai was killed, Yakov told me that he thought Yuri would be lost again. And then he found you. You are the first thing Yuri has ever wanted for himself. Is it safe to assume you feel the same way about him?”

He gave her a nod.

“Then show it. Stop bracing yourself for the worst outcome. Trust him and his strength. And when we find him, tell him what you want.” Her thin brow arched. “ _All_ of what you want. There’s no reason for fear. You’re already family. A vote is nothing compared to what you’ve been through for him.”

She knew. Somehow this terrifying woman knew the darkest desires of his heart before he did.

“Do you understand?” she asked. “To us, these months chasing after him is a drop in the ocean of our existence. It is time for you to begin thinking like us, Altin, instead of letting your petty human fears rule you. Once we find him, you’ll have forever with him. It will come soon enough, as long as you stay strong a little while longer.”

Her smile was so uncharacteristically warm as she wiped away his tears that he wondered if this was a dream. The gentle scratch of the edge of one of her nails against his cheek was real. The muted drone of meals and radios and televisions from the houses around him was real. He closed his eyes and prayed Yuri would feel this too, would feel the weight lifting off his shoulders from the healing salve of those words. Forever might be long enough.

_I_ _’m coming_ , he promised again. _Yuri, I_ _’m coming_.

 

*****

 

Hunger. Blood. Fear.

There was no home now. They moved him. Moved here, moved there, twisted him around until the world fell apart like a ring around the rosy …

“We have no choice. They keep attacking our other bases.”

Five months? Six months? Seven?

He chuckled and listened to the numbers roll out singsong in his mind. Eight month? Nine month? Ten month? Eleven?

_I_ _’m coming_.

Eleven. Definitely eleven. Almost their anniversary. How sweet. The piggy and Victor would love the poetry of that. His grandpa would laugh and make them pirozkhis and that night he and Otabek would make love and Otabek would smile up at him like he was Christmas morning and it would be okay …

Fingers gripped his chin. No one had touched him in so long. Too afraid. Too afraid of him to risk it. He snapped out of habit, too bored to go for real blood. The grip tightened until his jaw ached from the pressure. Furious purple eyes holding his gaze. “Why won’t you talk?”

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill him and end this._

He snapped again, but Michele had already released him, distracted by the conversation with an old hunter. “Let me end this. I’ll kill them for you.”

“We can’t risk you. You can create the armies we need for this war.”

Michele snapped a retort, but Yuri had stopped listening. At this point, it didn’t matter. Michele was talking to an old man. Old meant inner circle. Otabek had nearly hunted the Brotherhood to their most vulnerable.

_Kill them. Kill them all._

His mate was coming for him. He just had to hold on a little longer.

“No, Michele. It’s been decided. We’re returning home.”

Home.

He sighed and gnawed lazily at his wrist, not hungry enough to drink his own blood, but numb enough to want the reminder of what it meant to feel. Home was Otabek. Home was …

_Home. I’ll bring you home._

He smiled, even when Michele swore at him and hit him to try to knock the expression from his face. Otabek understood. His mate was coming for him. He just had to hold out a little longer.

The blood running from his split lip tickled. He laughed. _You_ _’re coming. I’ll wait._

 

*****

 

The Brotherhood had moved Yuri so many times. The family had been so close to rescuing him. Off by a few hours in Japan. A week in Russia. Two days in Montreal. Less than an hour in Lucerne. But now they were here, in the Carpathian Mountains, in the seat of the Brotherhood’s power and they wouldn’t let Yuri slip away again.

“He’s in the holding cells on the third level,” Leo told him again, shivering a little despite his heavy snow jacket. The snow falling around them was beautiful; thick, fat flakes drifted from the sky with drunken twists, catching in eyelashes and chilling the tip of Otabek’s nose.

He brushed a hand over his face. “I know.”

Leo wrinkled his nose, but didn’t waste the breath reminding him to be careful. It would be hypocritical, considering how long Leo spent undercover to help Otabek find Yuri in the first place.

“Guang Hong’s back at Christophe’s,” Otabek told him with a faint smirk.

The American didn’t rise to the bait. “I know.”

Speaking of their Swiss friend, he was deep in conversation with Victor, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the cold. Or maybe he just wanted access to the knives at his waist. Over the past year, Otabek had taught the vampires to carry back up weapons to prevent another incident like Montreal. If the Brotherhood was willing to poison their own blood in the hopes of taking down their enemies, it was high time for the vampires to adapt.

“This is as far as I take you,” Christophe told Victor and his mate. “If you can’t end this here, _now_ , the Brotherhood will never stop hunting any of you.”

“We understand,” Yuuri promised with a faint smile. “Why do you think we brought an army with us?”

Christophe laughed and hugged Victor, then Yuuri. Even in the darkness, Otabek could sense the rest of their family’s companions. By now, their numbers had grown, buoyed by members of other nests who were tired of this race to extinction. They were strong enough they could attack the Brotherhood head to head. Not that there was much left of the Brotherhood at this point. Phichit and Guang Hong had ensured that. They spread the truth of the Brotherhood’s war amongst its foot soldiers. The only men left defending the old men now were zealots. Later, Otabek would wonder if this was how it had to end, if this violent surge between them had been inevitable from the start, but for now he would focus on the only thing that mattered.

“Once you get him out,” Leo said, “let us know you’re both safe, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Leo.”

The young man grinned and slapped Otabek’s shoulder before following after Christophe. There. One more friend out of the line of fire. Otabek heaved a sigh of relief and returned his attention to the stronghold below them. The charges demolishing the front gate would go off in under two minutes. They would fight and distract the hunters from Minami and Lilia’s hardwiring into the security grid. From the safety of Christophe’s nest in the nearby town, Phichit would disable the rest of the compound. And then, the real battle would begin.

To his left, Otabek heard the shift of a body as it settled comfortably into the snow. He turned to glance at the man, happy to see his new companion. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked Georgi.

The man smiled. It was full of fang and fury and the back of Otabek’s neck prickled. “Even when I was lost in that blood lust, _this_ is what I dreamed of. I’ll make that bastard pay for what he did to Anya.” He leaned back and fixed Otabek with a canny stare. “Are _you_ up for this?”

“He’ll be back in my arms tonight. That’s all that matters.”

Georgi nodded slowly, completely understanding. “It is.”

“Otabek!” From their place further down the hill, Victor and Katsuki waved. Otabek rose, checked his weapons one last time, and searched for the bond. He couldn’t feel it, but he called out his message anyway. _I_ _’m here. I’m coming_. He patted Georgi’s shoulder as he passed. “Until we meet on the other side, брат.”

Georgi didn’t look away from their target, but his voice was more grounded that Otabek could remember in the past year. “Да. Давай.”

Давай, indeed.

 

*****

 

The compound shook. Screams. Yells. Hell had opened up outside the door of his room.

So hungry. Food just beyond his reach.

He tugged, snarling when something held him in place.

Blood. Thick, cloying, scenting the air. His fangs ached.

They’d forgotten him here. Better that way. Monster. He was a monster now.

_I_ _’m here. I’m coming._ Again and again.

He shook his head to dislodge the message, but it clung like cobwebs inside his skull. Safe. Had to keep his mate safe.

He bit down on his lower lip, but as his fangs pierced flesh, no blood welled up to distract him. Too long without a meal. His own fault, that. Don’t play nice with the guards, they don’t feed you.

He whined, rocking back and forth. So, so hungry. And the blood in the halls only grew. He imagined it coating the stone, seeping into the earth. It would stain this pit and he would light the match and let it burn and laugh and laugh …

Clanging. Shots fired inside a narrow space. They rang like the sound of church bells. Hope blossomed, despite his best efforts to quash it.

Footsteps, audible over the din of the war. Footsteps coming toward _him_.

_I’m here. I’m coming._

A rattle at his door. The tumbler of the lock giving way. Barely enough strength to lift his head, to peer up through the filthy fall of his lank tresses. But sight wasn’t necessary. He knew the scent of leather and silver. Knew the cool brush of newly fallen snow against dark eyelashes. Knew the heat of fingertips tracing promises into the skin of his back. Even through the echolalia of the blood lust, the bond reemerged and began to rise, triumphant and glorious like the firebird in the legends his grandpa used to tell him.

He couldn’t stop his voice from trembling. “Убийца, you came for me.”

Otabek’s voice reverberated through his chest. “Of course, тигр.”

Gentle hands on his face. The touch was too much. He closed his eyes against the familiarity of the gesture.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered while Otabek undid the chains holding his arms in place. Chains. He had been chained. With the bond fighting back to life, the ragged edges of the world were falling back into place.

“Like what?”

“Weak. An addict. A demon, like you said that first night.” Each admission hurt worse than the last, until he wondered if Otabek would see the blood spilling from those invisible wounds the words left behind when they tore from his throat.

Otabek’s fingers pressed under his chin and tipped his face up. All he could see was dark eyes. “Do you know what I see? A soldier. A survivor. My mate.” He leaned down and the kiss he pressed to Yuri’s lips was chaste and sweet and still robbed him of all breath. “I’m here. I came. I love you.”

This time, when the world faded away, it wasn’t because he gave up. It wasn’t because sunlight had burned away his eyes. It was because the tears streaming down his cheeks were too thick to see through. He pressed his forehead to the curve of Otabek’s neck, hungry and aware of the pulse under that warm skin, but content to simply breathe and accept that he was still alive. That he’d come back from the madness he’d thrown himself into. “Cпасибо,” he whispered. “Cпасибо, Beka.”


	24. Breathe in, breathe out ... let the human in

**Two years later** **…**

 

With snowflakes catching his golden hair and pale eyelashes, Yuri looked like a prince from one of the dark fairy tales of the old north. His awed smile only encouraged the comparison as he watched the white flecks swirl through the air while the clouds overhead broke open. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the family’s vote.

He had been more nervous than Otabek. Sometimes, Otabek forgot that Yuri struggled to believe he was loved or wanted, especially since his own relationships with the vampires of the nest were so positive. Sitting around the table, listening to _yes_ after _yes_ had transformed the Ice Tiger. His grip on Otabek’s hand kept tightening, as if each affirmation was a physical blow, and when Yakov had given a rare half-smile and declared that Yuri had the family’s blessing to turn Otabek whenever they chose, Yuri cried.

No one had argued when Otabek rose and pulled Yuri away with him. They left the nest and began wandering the streets of Saint Petersburg. It was late enough no one else was out, so they could enjoy the stroll in peace. As they moved through the shadowed pathways, Otabek wondered how his life had come to this, how it had changed so much in so little time. He wondered if his family would have approved of Yuri, if they would have understood his decision to turn. It made sense to him. He wouldn’t be human anymore, but he hadn’t been human for far too long already. Turning would let him finally become something he understood.

When it started to snow, blanketing the world and hiding its ugliness, offering a fresh start, Otabek took it for a sign and the last of the tension he carried bled away.

“Are you sure?” Yuri asked again, glancing over his shoulder at his mate. He must have felt the shift through the bond.

“Yes,” Otabek told him.

“Beka—”

“Yes, Yuri. I’m sure,” he repeated emphatically.

“Want to go home?”

He reached out and took hold of Yuri’s outstretched hand. They returned to the nest wordlessly, sneaking past the others who were still awake to get to their room. Otabek locked the door behind them, watching Yuri strip without any preamble. He followed suit, toeing out of his heavy boots and discarding his clothes as he made his way to their bed.

Yuri welcomed him down to the mattress with open arms and a brilliant smile. His mouth parted so sweetly for Otabek, his entire body arching up so their skin pressed. The bond tightened, flexing as the flow of emotions between them heightened.

 _This_ had never been their problem. Physical contact made them light up since the beginning, since that first night when they’d fought and declared war on each other. As if he knew where Otabek’s mind had gone, Yuri nipped his lip. The sharp pain and the bright taste of blood made him laugh, even as Yuri offered a soothing lick to the offended skin.

He lifted off his mate and rested his weight on an elbow, skimming his free hand over Yuri’s body. The pale skin held no scars, despite the injuries Yuri had suffered over the battles of the past two years. Feeding regularly from Otabek meant he healed the way he was supposed to; the only scar he still had was the pale line of Otabek’s garrote, a souvenir of those days when he’d chosen to sacrifice his well-being for his devotion to the man he decided would become his mate.

He shivered at the first brush of Yuri’s hand, at its gentleness. Yuri didn’t say a word. He simply painted his fingertips over Otabek’s skin, following the slashes of knife wounds, the puckered divots of attempted stakings, the single tear ripping across his biceps from a bullet that had narrowly missed the vessel. The most recent injury, a gash across his ribs he’d earned going through a window with one of the hunters they’d tangled with in Moscow, was almost fully healed, a garish pink that was slowly fading out. Otabek’s skin was a tapestry of his suffering, a permanent record of his past. Even after he turned, those scars wouldn’t fade. It seemed a poor canvas to offer the man lying beside him.

Yuri tapped his finger against Otabek’s hip. “Stop thinking.”

“Make me.”

Yuri growled and his hand snaked up, clasping the back of Otabek’s neck and bringing him down for a vicious kiss. It devolved swiftly, both of them too excited and eager for what was to come, too focused on that most final joining.

Otabek closed his eyes and reveled in the fall of Yuri’s hair brushing over his chest, the pressure of Yuri’s hand clamped around his wrists. Yuri held him there, pinned him to the mattress with hands outstretched over his head, the weight of a lithe body over his hips. And when Yuri moved and lowered himself onto Otabek’s cock, the rightness of it all ripped a low groan from him that echoed through the room.

Yuri took him with single-minded focus, ruthless and unrepentant as he coaxed Otabek higher and higher, played to his body’s every desire. On the cusp of orgasm, he managed to gasp out a final plea. Yuri struck at the same moment his world cracked open in a flash of white light and bliss and pain he’d come to adore.

Yuri came just as hard, moaning into Otabek’s neck as he fed. After a few minutes, he reached up a newly-released shaky hand and combed his fingers through Yuri’s hair, trying to keep himself calm as Yuri slowly drew away and off him. He lay there while Yuri cleaned up in the bathroom. He lay there when Yuri returned with a warm towel and cleaned him with loving attention. Only after Yuri tossed the towel away and sat on the edge of the bed, did Otabek know it was time.

His mate’s gaze was heavy with worry and desire and hope and Otabek took a shaky breath. “I want this,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Yuri’s smile dazzled him, lit up the room. “Together?” he asked shyly.

“Always.”

Yuri lay down beside him and Otabek wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. Yuri laughed at that and his nervous fingers danced over Otabek’s collarbone. “Neck or wrist?” he asked.

“Neck,” Otabek said. It was an automatic response, something primal and raw and he refused to question how he knew it was the right answer because a beautiful flush had stolen over Yuri’s cheeks.

Yuri shifted until he was under Otabek, his head tilted so the pale column of his neck was exposed. He moved one of Otabek’s hands higher, so his lips could press against the flesh of Otabek’s wrist as he held himself in place. “Once you start,” Yuri warned, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.”

“Good.” He sucked in a breath when Yuri pressed the knife into his other hand. It was a mating gift from Victor and Katsuki, yet another sign of their approval and support.

He saw the light catch the edge of the blade when he lifted it and traced its edge along Yuri’s skin, following the pale blue striae of the vessels. His mate shivered at the touch and Otabek shook his head and chuckled when he felt Yuri hardening against him. “After,” he promised, tapping the blade tip gently against the perfect spot. “I want you inside me when I can finally feed from you.”

The carnal sound Yuri made urged him over the precipice. He cut without further teasing, without warning, and sealed his lips around the wound, refusing to let a single drop escape. He was only dimly aware of the pain in his wrist from Yuri’s bite, too focused on the sensation of skin healing under his tongue. He’d cut deeper than necessary; all it took to turn was a mouthful of blood, but he didn’t want to make a mistake and have to repeat this process. They’d been through too much for any sign of doubt or hesitation now.

The pain started before he lifted his mouth from Yuri’s healed skin. Yuri had released his wrist and looked up at him now, watching closely as the pangs made themselves evident on Otabek’s face.

It was strange to feel yourself die. His limbs grew heavy, his breathing slowed, and his heart spasmed. Yuri’s blood rewrote him completely and he suffered every sharp erasure of what he’d once been. He shivered and shuddered as his mate held him close, whispering words of encouragement. Katsuki had warned him that turning would hurt. He’d warned that no matter how much Otabek wanted this, his body would fight it until the last moment. He was grateful for the stark words now. He clung to them, to the memory of Katsuki’s blissful smile when Otabek had asked if the pain of turning had been worth it, and he let himself drift away, secure in the knowledge that Yuri would be there when he woke up again.

A final struggle as the sluggish tattoo of his heartbeat ran faster from one last surge of adrenaline. A final rattling effort to take air into his lungs. And then …

 

*****

 

He had a small panic attack the moment Otabek’s body went still and the bond dimmed to a barely recognizable hum in the back of his mind. Yuri forced himself to breathe through it, to not cry, and held tight to Victor’s reminder. _He_ _’s coming back. It’ll be like he fell asleep and then he’ll open his eyes and your entire world will be right._

After everything they’d been through, it was almost funny how _this_ moment was the worst in Yuri’s memory. Maybe it was because walking out of that prison and seeing the carnage left behind from Otabek and his family’s war to bring him home hadn’t been frightening. It had been expected. Like hell Otabek would ever abandon him. Like hell his family would ever let Michele and the hunters escape without punishment. Maybe it was because they’d been fighting the Brotherhood, not Yuri’s fear of abandonment, before.

This was different though. The war was over. The last vestiges of the Brotherhood were gone, deserters to their cause or killed in the final fights with splinter cells. Otabek’s thirst for revenge, his longing to make up for the loss of his family, no longer existed. His only purpose now was Yuri and no matter how Yuri wanted to believe that was enough, a tiny, terrified part of him wondered if he would lose Otabek the same way he’d lost so many others. His parents. His grandfather.

 _I_ _’m here. I’m coming._ Those were the words Otabek had pushed through the bond over the months of their separation. That was the message Otabek had given him, even in the darkest depths of his madness. Now, Yuri nuzzled against Otabek’s skin and seized the bond, whispering through it, _I_ _’m here. Come back to me._

He waited. He’d waited for Otabek before. Waiting this time was easier. Because Otabek was coming back to him and they’d never be apart again. An eternity of this before his eyes …

A fragile twist of the bond. The steady, gentle rise of Otabek’s chest as he took in a breath.

Yuri sat up, staring down at his mate, joy burning through him so hot he wondered if Otabek would find his skin coated in a layer of fine ash.

Otabek’s hand spasmed. His foot twitched. His breathing grew deeper, stronger, faster.

Yuri leaned in, brushing dark hair off his forehead and watching his mate reawaken to his new life.

And then, dark eyes opened, unfocused. The pupils contracted, dilated, and Otabek turned his head, until he found Yuri’s gaze and held it. Otabek smiled, his fangs flashing in the light, and Yuri laughed because Victor had been right. The world had never been so right.

Otabek’s voice was soft, painfully fond as he murmured, “You’re here.”

Yuri found his hand and clasped it. “So are you.”

They curled up together after that, unconcerned about the world and the passage of time. They had forever, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is over. It's been a true joy to write this story, and even more to interact with all of you who have been part of this journey. Our discussions have meant the world to me! Even though this piece is done, I do have other projects I'm working on (both on and off AO3). If you want to keep up with them or learn about previous works I've written, stop in and visit me on Tumblr (@authormagrant).
> 
> Also, as some of you have noticed, the chapter titles for this story come from songs I listen to as I write. I've included the full list of songs below, in case you're curious. 
> 
> Chapter 1 — “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” by Dean Martin  
> Chapter 2 — “Lily’s Theme” by Alexandre Desplat  
> Chapter 3 — “Say No to This” by the Hamilton original Broadway cast  
> Chapter 4 — “The Kids Aren’t Alright” by Fall Out Boy  
> Chapter 5 — “Irresistible” by Fall Out Boy  
> Chapter 6 — “Animals” by Maroon 5  
> Chapter 7 — “Come What May” (film version) from Moulin Rouge soundtrack  
> Chapter 8 — “Back to Black” by Amy Winehouse  
> Chapter 9 — “Howl” by Florence + The Machine  
> Chapter 10 — “I Write Sins (Not Tragedies)” by Panic! at the Disco  
> Chapter 11 — “Let Go” by Frou Frou  
> Chapter 12 — “O Death” by Jen Titus  
> Chapter 13 — “Papaoutai” by Stromae  
> Chapter 14 — “Blood Bank” by Bon Iver  
> Chapter 15 — “Winter Song” by Leslie Odom, Jr. (originally by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson)  
> Chapter 16 — “Sirens” from the Jane Eyre original Broadway cast  
> Chapter 17 — “My Blood” by Elie Goulding  
> Chapter 18 — “Who You Really Are” by David Arnold & Michael Price  
> Chapter 19 — “This Years Love” by David Grey  
> Chapter 20 — “Black” by Dierks Bentley  
> Chapter 21 — “Hunger” by Of Monsters and Men  
> Chapter 22 — “Crystals” by Of Monsters and Men  
> Chapter 23 — “Champion” by Fall Out Boy  
> Chapter 24 — “Human” by Of Monsters and Men


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